Withdrawal
by Gatergirl79
Summary: When Sherlock died, John discovered he'd left everything to him. Everything, including a rather surprising deposit in a rather special bank. When Sherlock returns from the dead three years later, he discovers John made a withdrawal.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ok, this story is a little far-fetched but I just couldn't stop myself from writing it. I'm still working on whether this is going to make it as a full length story. So it would be nice to know what you think. It has not been Beta'ed, so will most probably have spelling and/or grammar mistakes. Set post-Return. **

* * *

Sherlock stared up at 221B nervously. He knew he should go to see Mycroft first, after all they were family but after three years away Sherlock only wanted to go home and relax.

He wanted to walk into the flat and see John, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. John had moved out of 221 just after the funeral. Of course there was always the chance that he could have moved back while he was away, but he found that unlikely. John had been devastated by his supposed death, and everything Sherlock knew about his friend told him that the man was too sensitive to continue living there. It was probably for the best; after all he was back from the dead. John was not going to take that very well, not at all. So he'd give it sometime. Hopefully Mycroft could lay the ground work. Once Sherlock had told his brother he was alive, of course. But right now, he just wanted to settle back into his flat and relax.

Pushing open the door, Sherlock listened. He'd expected Mrs. Hudson to come running out of her flat at the sound of the door, cricket bat in hand. - He smiled to himself. - But there was no sign of her. Figuring she was out shopping Sherlock took the steps slowly. It was strange being back after so long. The world was different, he was different but 221 was exactly the same. Same carpet on the stairs, same wallpaper. If only everything was the same, if only John was there to welcome him.

A sound from above suddenly caught his attention and Sherlock found himself wondering if maybe Mrs. Hudson had re-let the flat. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Of course she would have. She needed the income. Taking a breath he debated what to do, carry on or turn back. Deciding to just be sure, after all, it may be an intruder, Sherlock continued up the stairs.

He walked cautiously into the living room and froze. On the floor sat a young red-haired woman playing with a dark haired girl of about eighteen months. Sherlock stared at the pair, before politely announcing his presence with a cough. When the woman turned, her face paled.

"Do not be alarmed, I was not aware the flat had been re-let."

She continued to stare at him like she was seeing a ghost, which in a manner of speaking she was. Sherlock deduced she recognized him from his times as a front page oddity, although that had been almost three years. Undoubtedly Mrs. Hudson has shown her a photo. Her shuttered words confirmed his suspicions.

"Y-you're…. You're….?" her eyes widened as she got to her feet, lifting the child and carrying her on her hip as she walked towards him. "…You can't be. - Your Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock straightened his spine. "Yes. - And you are?"

"Mary…Mary Watson."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to stare, pale faced and wide eyes. "Watson?" he repeated. John had gotten married. _Of course John had gotten married, it was perfectly logical_. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting.

Well that was a lie. He'd been expecting to be able to stroll back into John Watson's life and pick up where they'd left off. Sherlock swallowed his disappointment and turned to stare at the child, her eyes so like John as she stared back at him with curiosity and something akin to recognition. So John was a husband and a father. Well, that was good, wasn't it? All Sherlock had ever wanted was John to be happy. But this sudden change in the man's circumstances meant that they couldn't continue their adventures. He could not allow John to put his life at risk knowing he had a wife and child waiting for him. No, he would find somewhere else to live and carry on alone. He had been solving crimes for years before he met John Watson, he could do that again.

Expect a voice in his head was telling him he couldn't. That it wouldn't be the same without John there to watch over him. Sherlock blinked back tears that he hadn't shed since the day he'd said goodbye to his only friend. Deciding it was best to leave; he turned on his heel and rushed down the stairs, Mary Watson calling after him.

He was a few steps from the front door when it opened to reveal the two people he'd spent three years missing, Mrs. Hudson pushing a smart pram, while John followed her in with three large carrier bags, in each hand.

The scream elicited by Mrs. Hudson set off a high pitched wail from the small child. Sherlock watched in horror as the old woman collapsed back into the full arms of John Watson. The man himself stared in shock at the resurrected detective, his mouth hanging open. Behind him Sherlock could hear the sound of running feet.

"S-S-Sher-lock?" John stuttered.

"Hello John." he gave a shy smile.

~**SHERLOCK**~

The room was filled with awkward silence and strain. Sherlock had returned to his old grey leather chair, watching John tend to a pale, shaken Mrs. Hudson. On the floor sat John's little girl, staring up at him intrigued, while her mother fussing around in the kitchen. The small newborn lay peacefully in the nearby Moses basket. Sherlock watched the scene with a feeling of not belonging. Finally John had convinced Mrs. Hudson that everything was alright, through the woman still looked at Sherlock like he was some kind of monster.

"He's real? - He's alive?" she asked nervously.

John glared at Sherlock, his jaw clenched tight. "It would appear so. - Though he may not remain that way." John was on his feet, his arms crossed over his chest.

The two men stared at each other. Sherlock knew he was going to have to explain what had happened, how he'd done it.

"Well!" he snapped loudly.

"John." hushed Mrs. Hudson looking at the basket.

"Outside. Now!" John ordered angrily, his gaze still locked on Sherlock.

The detective got to his feet and followed the doctor out of the room, down the stairs, cutting through Mrs. Hudson's flat; they exited into the bare backyard. John drew to a halt, Sherlock a few steps behind him. The doctor didn't turn to look at Sherlock, not for a few minutes. When the older man finally did turn his eyes were raw, angry and filled with something Sherlock couldn't quite place.

"You're alive?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied flippantly and instantly regretted it when fury filled John gaze.

They silent stared at each other for a few moments.

"Where have you been?"

"Here and there." another cold glare had Sherlock talking again. "Europe, the Middle East, America."

"Why?"

_Huh, the big question_. The one Sherlock had been expected even before he'd set food on English soil. "I had no choice. Your lives were in danger." not enough information, Sherlock deduced from the tightening of John's jaw. "Moriarty had people waiting to kill you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade if I didn't jump. - So I jumped."

John continued to stare at him with a blank expression. "So you faked your suicide to protect us."

"Yes."

"Did Mycroft know?" John voice was cold. Empty. Sherlock had expected shouting, yelling, maybe even a fist fight. Instead there was nothing, and that was a thousand times harder to take.

"No."

They were silent again, the tension a physical thing between them. So much so that eventually it snapped and Sherlock was on the receiving end of the backlash when John's tightly clenched fist swung around to connect with his jaw.

Sherlock remembered the feel of the man's fist for their previous encounter, only this time there was more force and fury behind the swing. There was blood this time and pain. This punch held all the strength of John military career.

"I thought you were dead!" John yelled very loud. "Fuck it Sherlock, do you have any idea what watching you jump did to me! _Do you_? I was in therapy for a year!"

"It was the only way!" Sherlock yelled back. "It was you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade or Me. I made the right choice!"

"For who?"

"For all of us. Logically one life was better than three. - Beside I wasn't dead. I always intended on returning."

"Oh that's alright then. We'll just forget the months of pain. The funeral. - I'll just forget the nightmares watching you jump caused!"

Sherlock looked at the tears filling his friends gaze and felt a fresh wave of guilt. "It hasn't been easy for me either John. Not having you there at my side. Knowing the pain I'd caused you all. But it was to keep you safe and I don't regret my actions."

John stared breathlessly at his resurrected friend for an eternity. Sherlock spat blood into the small patch of weeds before John shouldered past him to march, literally, into Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. After a few moments Sherlock followed after him, finding the doctor piling ice into one of Mrs. Hudson's tea-towels.

"Here." he handed over.

"Thank you." Sherlock took the dampening towel and pressed the covered ice to his jaw, dropping into the chair at the old woman kitchen table. John remained standing by the counter.

The room filled with a strained silence so thick he could be cut with a knife.

Sherlock was the first to break it. "So you got married?" he asked casually. "Congratulations."

"What?" John's head snapped around to stare wide eyed at Sherlock.

"The young woman up stair… Mary?"

John's jaw clenched tight. "Is no relation of any kind." he stated matter-of-factly.

"But the name, Watson?"

"Coincidence. - She's not my wife Sherlock, she's the nanny."

Sherlock sat dumb-founded, his mind sorting through the fact as fast as he could, but nothing was making sense. He even worried that he'd lost his touch after being away for so long. "But…the children are yours?"

John smiled sadly, shaking his head. "No."

Sherlock didn't understand were the relief came from, but it flooded his body quickly. John wasn't married; he didn't have children, which was wonderful news. It meant they could carry no from there they left off. They could go back to solving cases together, as soon as he cleared his name and reputation that was.

"Not technically." John was saying, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts.

"Not technically?"

John cleared his throat. "I have sole custody; I've raised them, but biologically there not mine."

"Harry's?" It was the only logical explanation, Sherlock deduced, though it lead him to wonder who their father was, seeing as Harry was gay.

"Yes."

_Huh_. "Their father? - A donor no doubt. But why got to all the trouble to get a sperm donor only to abandon the children to you."

John stared at him for a long time, as if trying to communicate something telepathically. Something Sherlock wasn't getting.

"It was Harry's idea." John said after a few moments of contemplation. He sounded eager to make that point clear.

"That you care for her children?" Sherlock did not sound impressed, which wasn't all that unusual considering. After all, he'd never really like Harry.

"Their my children Sherlock." John insisted harshly. "Harry is merely their biological mother."

Sherlock stared at John. "You cannot be their father John."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm not their biological father, Harry's my sister that would be impossibly dangerous, immoral and I think even illegal. But as I have said I am their father, legally and emotionally. Beth calls _me _Daddy."

Sherlock dropped the tea-towel filled with ice on the table and stared at his friend. "John, so you adopted your sisters children, children she went out of her way to have despite never giving any indication that she wanted them." he frowned, his mind working through all the data. Then it hit him. John knew when it had because the detective's eyes widened to the size of Jupiter and his mouth hung open. "No." he gasped, shaking his head. "You didn't."

John nodded guiltily. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

~**SHERLOCK**~

Sherlock sat in the chair just staring into space. It had never even crossed his mind before. He'd completely forgotten all about it if he was truthful. He wasn't even sure why he'd done it in the first place. One of those illogical sentimental moments he had sometimes no doubt. But he could never have thought that this would…. Never. "Mine?"

John pulled up a chair on the other side of the table, nodding slightly, with a little shrug. "Yeah."

"But - But why? - What on earth possessed you to….Why?"

John smiled a little. "Like I said, it was Harry's idea." his head dropped into his hands. "I didn't exactly handle your death well Sherlock. Despite the months of therapy and moving out of here, I was in a bad way. I tried everything to get my life back on track; I got a proper job, started dating again, but nothing helped. I slipped into a depression. It was like before I meant you, the worlds just so….boring without you Sherlock."

"I'm sorry John." the detective sighed guiltily.

John kept his gaze fixed to the kitchen table. "Harry even tried to sort me out, can you believe it…" he smirked. "…she can't sort her own life out but is happy to do anything to get me back on the straight and narrow. - Anyway, when I received a letter from your solicitor asking to see me about your will, she came with me. I can't believe you made me the beneficiary of your will…."

"Who else?" Sherlock asked matter-of-factly.

John shrugged. "Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade… Mycroft."

"Hardly." Sherlock scoffed.

"He's missed you too Sherlock. I can't believe you didn't at least let him in on this insane plan of yours. - Whatever your plan was."

"And why would I have done that? - Beside, if I wanted the world to believe my death, you and sadly Mycroft were the two people they would look to. The slightest hint that your grief wasn't real would have ruined everything."

"What were you doing Sherlock? Three years."

"I will explain everything after you have. - Please continue."

John huffed. "Fine. Well, when we found out about the deposit you made I have to say I was more than a little shocked, it didn't seem like the kind of thing you would do."

"It was a lapse in judgment a long time ago." Sherlock dismissed.

"I figured it was some kind of experiment or other." John smiled. "To discover the suitability of frozen sperm or something."

"I hadn't thought of that." Sherlock frowned, ashamed at himself.

John couldn't help but laugh. "Anyway. As I thought it was one of your experiments, I dismissed it. But Harry suggested that maybe I should think about making a withdrawal. She advocated rather diplomatically that maybe the world needed an another Holmes."

Sherlock took a moment to think about that.

"I wasn't convinced. It seemed a little morbid if I'm honest. But I wasn't having any luck moving on. My dating skills hadn't improved. It seemed you were still able to chase them away from beyond the grave."

Sherlock smiled arrogantly.

"I'm glad you think it's funny. - Well eventually I gave up, well for the most part. I still go out but I'm not looking for long term. That was when Harry brought up the subject again, offering herself as an egg donor and surrogate. I really wasn't keen, but it turned out she'd already gone behind my back and done it. - She faked my signature on the documents, can you believe that?"

"Your signature is not all that hard to fake John." Sherlock remarked blandly.

"Thanks. That's not the point Sherlock. She did it without my consent. You left that in my charge and she…" his voice tightened with anger that swiftly vanished. "…I was furious with her, but she said it was too late and that I needed something to live for and as you were no longer here, your child would have to do."

John fell silent as his throat closed around the words. It had been three years and Sherlock was sitting in front of him, but the pain of losing his only friend was still there, it still hurt. Getting up from his seat he went in search of a glass of water. Taking a few deep gulps he turned around and leant back on the side. "She was right you know. Having Beth really did give me something to live for."

"Beth?" Sherlock queried.

John frowned at him. "Your mother's name was Elizabeth, I thought it fitting."

Sherlock swallowed hard. "Oh. Of course."

John had to smile. "Mycroft wasn't too happy."

"I can imagine." Sherlock mumbled tightly.

"He came round though. - Mrs. Hudson was overjoyed, insisted that I moved back here, so she could help me. It all seemed to run of auto after that, strangely. - Harry got clean and stayed clean. Two years now." he smiled proudly.

"What about the other child, the boy."

"Junior was my idea. I didn't want Beth to be an only child. Of course considering the relationships we have with our siblings, it doesn't bode well for happy families." John laughed. "Especially if they both take after their father."

* * *

**A/N: So? You want more? **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well I have to say I was surprised by the response to the first chapter. I really didn't think it would be so well received, especially considering how many John/Sherlock have a family stories there are floating around. But I always try to please, so here's a new chapter. I'm not sure how this is going to go, John/Sherlock wise, so if your anti slash and this heads that way, I'm sorry. I also want to warn you that there may be large gaps between posts, as I'm writing as I post, rather than writing a good four or five chapters ahead, like I normally do. Like I said, I wasn't expecting the response. But I'm glad you all enjoyed it and would like to thank you for demanding more. I hope to continue to hear your thoughts on how this story is developing. **

**Still not been Beta'ed, so will most probably have spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

To say Sherlock was suffering from shock would be an understatement of epic proportions. He sat in his old chair, staring down at the small child with a mop of short, fine dark curls, unable to believe the child was his own. Of course he should have realised. The thing didn't resemble John, except for the eyes, which she obviously inherited from Harry. Everything else about the girl said Holmes. But it had just been all so, well unthinkable. He'd deleted the incident with the sperm bank from his memory to make room for dirt. - In the literal sense. The two thousand different shades and textures, origins and chemical make-ups, were all precisely categorized in his head. Leaving no room for something so trivial as an ill-judged deposit.

Now he had to think about it. Hard. He was…Sherlock shook his head. No, he wasn't her father, John was, he merely provided half her genetic make-up, while the rest was Harry. Suddenly a thought struck him. This little girl and her brother carried both his and John genes, Sherlock's brows furrowed, hardly able to understand why that idea felt strangely wrong and right at the same instant. Or why his heart had suddenly skipped a beat.

"Sherlock!"

He was pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of his name. His head snapped up, unsure who had demanded his attention. He looked from John to Mrs. Hudson to Mary, before settling on John again. Going by his features he was upset.

"John?"

"Your phone." he said harshly.

"My phone?" Sherlock repeated with a little confusion.

John was glaring at him, it wasn't his usual glare either, it was the one reserved for when Sherlock had really put his foot in it. The one he'd missed most over the past three year.

Something in Sherlock's head clicked and he fished into his pocket for his phone, groaning to himself when he saw the message.

**MGS**

**How was the home coming?**

**Irene xxx**

Sherlock's eyes instantly shot to John and knew just what was going through the man's mind. As far as John and the world was concerned Irene Adler was dead and buried. No one, not even Mycroft, knew where she actually was or who had saved her life. - until now.

Sherlock kept his gaze trained on John, who meet it with a ounce of anger and a kilo of hurt. Once again Sherlock found his chest tightening for no good reason.

"Sherlock." interrupted another voice that was all too familiar, after all he'd been hearing it all his life.

"Mycroft." Sherlock answered not breaking eye contact with John.

The elder Holmes strolled into the living room, his umbrella making marks in the carpet.

"So." he sighed, stepping over Elisabeth with a huff, to stand in front of his brother. "You've finally returned."

John stared at the back on Mycroft's head with a surprised look, before turning to Sherlock, angry, again. "You said he didn't know!" he all but yelled.

"I said, I hadn't told him. That didn't mean he couldn't work it out himself."

"It was quite simple really. Excellently done, I might add, little brother."

John's fury switched to Mycroft. "So you knew he wasn't dead! Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me!" he was on his feet, shoulders back and that soldier's spark in his eyes.

"Uh, Hmm…." Mrs. Hudson stuttered. "Why don't we leave them to it, Mary dear, let's take the children down to my flat before all hell break loose." the older woman smiled at the nervous looking red-head. Gathering the children between them, the two women fled the scene.

John had the decency to wait for Mrs. Hudson, Mary and the children to leave before he let rip. "So? I'm waiting Mycroft! If you knew Sherlock wasn't dead why the fucking hell didn't you tell me! You knew what I was going through!"

Mycroft remained untouched my John's sudden outburst, sadly Sherlock did not. It hurt to see and hear the pain in his best friends voice.

"Because John, if Sherlock felt it necessary to go to such lengths as to fake his own death and vanish for three year, I could only assume it was for a good reason. And if he did not inform you of the plan then that too was for a reason." Mycroft answered calmly, turning to his brother.

"Mori…"

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand and gave his brother his 'Do-I-look-like-I-need-an-explanation.' look.

Hurricane John hadn't blow itself out though. "So you knew he was alive! Is that why you were against the surrogacy thing? Because you knew he'd come back?"

Mycroft nodded.

"Huh. And I suppose you know about that woman too. - Adler."

For the first time since John started his rant, Mycroft actually looked surprised. "Pardon me? What about Adler."

John folded his arms petulantly. "What, you didn't know? The great Mycroft Holmes?"

"Know what?" Mycroft pressed impatiently.

"She's alive."

"What!" Mycroft's gaze shot to Sherlock, who met it unflinchingly. While John's fury and hurt cut him deeply, his brothers was like water off a ducks back to him.

And as always, the woman had impeccable timing, as his phone made _'that' _noise again and all eyes fell to Sherlock's mobile cradled in his hand.

**MSG**

**Don't mean to interrupt the reunion, just want to know you're alright.**

**Give John a kiss from me**

**Irene xxx**

Sherlock clenched his teeth and returned his gaze to Mycroft and John, who were both watching him intently. "Alright, so Irene's alive."

"You?" Mycroft asked blandly.

"Of course me. Who else could have fooled you so utterly."

"Why?"

Sherlock didn't answer, he didn't know how to. It wasn't like he could simply say because "I owed her" or "I loved her." or even "Because I was bored." because all those things were true and false in equal measure. All Sherlock had known at the time was that he'd had to save her, so he had.

John gave a deep frustrated huff and turned away, marching furiously into the kitchen where he proceeded to slam around. Sherlock rolled his eyes and released a heavy sigh, slouching down in his seat. John disliked Irene more than was considered reasonable, or rational.

Mycroft dropped into John abandoned chair, as he always did, and stared at his brother. There wasn't anger in Mycroft's eyes, only fascination, confusion and what might actually be compassion. They didn't speak, they didn't need to. Sherlock turned his attention to the mobile, staring at the text, wondering if he should reply. He never replied, except that once on New Year's Eve, three years ago.

He remembered that day as clear as yesterday. He'd thought Irene was dead, she's actually fooled him. - Maybe that's why he respected her, cause there weren't many people who could actually get one over on him. - But then she'd contacted John. He'd known the instant he'd seen the car that it wasn't one of Mycroft's and fearful for John he'd followed. That had been when he'd heard them. John had been furious, in a controlled kind of way. People who didn't know him would have mistaken it for calm, only Sherlock knew better. He'd heard every word exchanged and it had been revealing and infuriating at the same time. He'd been relieved and thankful that Irene was alive. Furious at himself for actually falling her ruse. And then he'd heard Irene's question.

"_Are you jealous?"_

He'd waited, unable to breathe though he hadn't known why. It wasn't like he hadn't known what John would say. It was what he always said.

"_We're not a couple."_

It was Irene's replied that had hit a nerve in him.

"_Yes, you are."_

Sherlock had stood in the dark shadowed corridor of Battersea Power Station. He didn't know why he hadn't put his phone of silent; it would have been the sensible thing to do. Maybe he'd wanted to get caught; maybe he'd been just too concerned for John to care. But the sound of the incoming text had echoed off the walls, breaking through the conversation he was listening to. He hadn't stayed around to face the pair; he'd returned home and taken out his anger, frustration and confusion out on a rather obnoxious American. It hadn't been till later that the subject of Irene had broached by John, when he asked if he was going to see her again. He hadn't replied because he hadn't known what to say, there had been something in the way John asked that made him almost say no. Instead he'd replied to Irene's text wishing her a happy new year.

Pulling himself out of the memory, Sherlock stared down at his mobile for a second, before he began to move his fingers over the keys, replying to the message.

**MSG:**

**Home. **

**SH**

He pressed the send button then place the phone on the arm of his chair, steepled his fingers and watched John move around the kitchen. Seconds later the phone _'Ahhh'_ed and the sound of something hitting the work top in the kitchen echoed through, Sherlock watched as John's back stiffened.

"Answer her, for god sake!" John shouted. "Or turn the damn thing off, cause if I hear that noise one more time…."

"John." Mycroft cut him off. "Is that tea ready?"

Sherlock almost, very almost, sent his brother a thank you. Instead he glanced at the mobile screen.

**MSG:**

**Glad to hear it. Have a good life Sherlock. **

**Maybe one day, we'll have dinner.**

**Irene xxx**

John marched in from the kitchen carrying the tea tray. It hit the table with such force that the tea splashed over the sides of the cups, John left his mug on the tray and bent down to pick up Beth's toys, needing anything to distract him from Sherlock and that woman.

Sherlock watched him with fascination. He could tell he was angry, more than angry, almost furious. He knew the best thing was to let John cool down, so he turned to his brother. "So Mycroft; how is my reputation. Restored I hope?"

"For the most part, I had a lot of cleaning up to do with Scotland Yard; you've made more than your fair share of enemies there you know, a Sergeant Donovan, especially is baying for your blood."

"Yes, Sally and I don't exactly see eye to eye."

They heard John scoff at the understatement.

"But I don't think you'll be having any more trouble from them and you should be able to get back to….work soon, once the papers print the story."

John was finally finished clean and now pulled up one of the dining table chair. "What story?" he asked, leaning forward to retrieve his mug.

"I leaked a 'secret' document confirming the existence of James Moriarty and his links with more than half the most dangerous criminal groups in the world. It also make mention of a top secret investigation lead by one Sherlock Holmes…" He beamed. "…in order to bring down Moriarty's criminal enterprise."

"The expense report was a very nice touch." Mycroft stated coolly.

Sherlock smiled arrogantly. "I thought so. People may not believe official report or even top-secret eyes-only memos but they'll believe an expense report claiming ten thousand pound for room service in a Bahrain hotel."

"So, wait, are you saying that you've cleared your name and proven Moriarty was really who we said he was?"

"Yes, what else do you think I've been doing the past three years?"

John didn't answer the question, but his gaze flickered to the phone. "So once this so-called top-secret investigation hit's the front pages, it'll be business as usual?"

"Exactly." Sherlock grinned like a child on Christmas morning. "We won't be able to sleep for the case load."

John stared at him with wide eyes. "Sherlock, in case you hadn't noticed, we….I have a family, children and a job. You can't just march back into my life after three years and expect me to drop everything to go off solving crimes with you!" he snapped angrily.

"Why not? You have a child minder, and Mrs. Hudson."

"For God sake Sherlock, you really have no idea do you." John was on his feet again. "This isn't about who's going to look after Beth and Junior while we're out running around the streets of London. This is about the safety of ou…my family. If there's one thing I learnt from what happened with Moriarty, it's that your life is dangerous to those in it, before that didn't bother me, heck I thrived on it, but I have responsibilities now."

Sherlock frowned. "So you won't help me?"

"No Sherlock, I won't."

Mycroft got to his feet. "Well I'll leave you two to your….discussion. I'll be in contact soon Sherlock. - John, thank you for the tea."

John huffed a bye to Mycroft, still furious with him for not letting him in on the secret. - And for not drinking his tea. He followed Mycroft out of the room.

"John?" Sherlock said, almost in a panic. "Where are you going? Mycroft is perfectly capable of showing himself to the door."

John glared at him. "I'm well aware; I'm going to get Beth and Junior. It's almost time for dinner, and Mary needs to get home."

"Oh." he relaxed into his seat, still unable to believe John wasn't going to work with him anymore. _He'll change his mind. John loves the work almost as much as I do. No doubt he's been bored senseless these past few years, he needs excitement_. _All I need is a really interesting case. _

* * *

**A/N: You still want more? Or is that a silly question? As I said, I have no idea where this story is going, just writing by the seat of my pants on this one. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all for the supportive review, they've really made my day and turned this still little one shot into a story. I'd also like to say thank you to those of you who have already faved and alerted. It means a lot to me. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

John returned a few moments later with the children. Sherlock watched him as he entered the room with a Moses basket in his left hand and Beth balanced on his right hip. The child stared at Sherlock with interest as John placed the basket back on its stand by the sofa, before lowering Beth to the floor and handing her a doll. Then he turned and headed for the kitchen. During this he didn't as a word to Sherlock, he barely acknowledged his presence.

Sherlock sat in his chair watching John through the door until he felt a small tug on his trouser leg. He looked down to see Beth gazing up at him, her pale blue eyes wide with interest. In her hand she clung to the doll as she held her arms out to him. Sherlock just stared at her as she waved her extended arms and bounced on the balls of her small feet. He didn't think he was ever going to get used to the idea that this child was partly his. It seemed just too fantastical a notion.

He'd never considered children, well except for the night he'd paid a visit to the bank. He'd just never thought he'd be any good at it. After all parenthood meant sacrifice and Sherlock knew he was just too selfish for that. He enjoyed his work, enjoyed the danger too much to give it up. And then there was also the issue of his own childhood. It hadn't been terrible; he'd had a loving mother but his father was a different story. The man was cold and distant and hadn't really cared much for either of his sons, except for when they were graduating with honors and a shed load of degrees. Sherlock had always said from a young age that he would never be like his father.

Taking a breath Sherlock dipped down and lifted the child off her feet, setting her on his lap so that her back rested against the chairs arm. She didn't say anything; she just stared at him, as if she was trying to figure him out. That idea made Sherlock smile, which in turn cause Beth to smile. The pair just sat there, watching each other in silence. Finally Sherlock whispered to her.

"I'm Sherlock."

She didn't reply.

_Did children of her age speak, _he wondered. There was so much he didn't know about children, about families - normal families. He turned his attention away from Beth to watch John as he moved around the kitchen, his back to them. He wished his friend would talk to him, properly, without the anger and frustration. Silence was normal for them, but not when there was an atmosphere creating static in the room. He could handle the silence but not the silent-treatment. "John."

"I'm busy." he called back, not making a move to turn.

Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh and looked back at Beth. "Is he always like this now?" he whispered.

Beth frowned at him, then glanced in the direction of her father then back to Sherlock. The look in her eyes was a silent answer to his question and Sherlock understood it and he felt his heart skip. They shared something, this child and him, and it felt good.

John was peeling potatoes when Sherlock called him, causing him to cut far too much skin off one of them. He mumbled under his breath. He was still furious with the sod. Here he was back from the dead and already he was creating chaos. What made it worse what that John had dream of this happening a thousand and one times, especially those first few months after the fall. He'd dreamt that he'd been able to talk him out of it. Or that they'd killed Moriarty that night at the pool. Or that by some miracle Sherlock had survived the jump. But he'd never ever expected them to come true and it scare the hell out of him that his deepest desire had been granted. After all people weren't meant to have dreams come true, the universe had to keep balance. Or at least that's what Joanna, the surgery receptionist said.

And he wanted to go back to solving cases. Was he insane? They had…No _he_ had children to think about; he couldn't just drop everything at one in the morning when Lestrade summoned them to some crime scene across London. And what if they met another Moriarty, another crazy genius who wanted to outsmart the great Sherlock Holmes? What then. No, his crime solving days were behind him, Sherlock would just have to do the leg-work on his own, or find another idiot to work for him.

John was just cutting into his final potato when he heard Junior begin to wail. Rolling his eyes he dropped the knife and vegetable, before grabbing a tea-towel to dry his hands. When he turned to go to see to his son he was met with the shock of his life.

Sherlock stood cradling the baby in the crook of his arm, gently rocking it from side to side. He was surprised at how comforting the motion was. Not just for the baby but for him too. He'd barely started when he smelt it, a rather disgusting and he'd say distinctive aroma. His nose crinkled at the realization. But he'd seen worse at crime scene and he was well versed in various bodily contents, a dirty nappy wasn't all that disturbing for him. He walking towards the far corner where the changing things were, he'd seen them when he's arrived. Balancing the infant on a single arm, he began to pick up what was needed. Tugging a nappy out of the bag, he dropped it on the couch beside him; he did the same for the wet-wipes and nappy-rash cream, before setting down on the battered leather and lying the child down carefully. He meticulously went about changing the nappy.

Nothing, no crime scene in the world could have prepared him for what was revealed to him. It was possible the most revolting pile of…excrement he'd ever seen. His nose wrinkled at the smell, which far outweighed the sight in its revoltingness. His felt his stomach roll and disposed of the monstrosity as quickly as possible, sadly the distraction of the nappy cost him. He felt his arm being to dampen; he turned to find a thin stream of urine drenching his shirt sleeve. A sudden burst of laughter erupted from across the room and Sherlock's head snapped around to find John stood watching him, his features crumpled as he laughed so hard that tears were slipping down his face. Sherlock was not impressed with his friends' reaction to his efforts.

"I do not see what is so funny John?"

John looked at him with watery eyes and a raised brow.

Then they were both laughing, John walking over to take over from Sherlock.

"I can finish." the detective insisted, as he pulled a wet-wipe out of the packet and quickly cleaned the baby's backside, before sliding a fresh nappy beneath it.

"Don't forget…"

"I know." Sherlock cut his friend of as he reached for the small tub of cream, pulling off the lid; he scooped a dollop of the stuff with his fingers.

"How exactly…?" John asked. His gaze narrowing as he watched his friend smear the cream over the baby's skin before fastening the nappy with white sticky fingers.

"I had a case two months before I met you. A young mother had abandoned her baby with a friend; the friend wanted me to find the mother and found fit to leave me holding the baby, literally. Thank heavens I had Mrs. Hudson to turn to. That's when she told me about this place."

"Oh." John held out a fresh wet-wipe to his friend. "Well she obviously taught you well, except next time you might want to have the clean nappy already underneath him before you remove the dirty one, that way you can avoid…." he pointed to Sherlock's sleeve. "…accidences."

"Huh." Sherlock nodded, lifting the baby off the sofa and carrying him back to his basket.

John gathered the dirty things to dispose of in the kitchen bin. "Maybe you should go change your shirt."

"Yes." Sherlock walked through the kitchen and into his room, where he found. None of his things. Everything, what little there was, was Johns. "John? - Where are my…"

"Oh…" John rushed up behind him. "…Yeah, your stuff, you'll have to see Mrs. Hudson about that. I took over this room when Beth was born." he said without a hint of apology. "After all, you were dead; it wasn't like you'd be needing it."

Sherlock glared at him, before marching off to speak to Mrs. Hudson. He didn't see the satisfied smirk on John's face as he pulled the bedroom door shut and went back to making dinner.

~**SHERLOCK**~

"Your things?" Mrs. Hudson repeated, shifting on her feet. "Well….uh, well…John kept some of you stuff…."

"Yes, but not everything, where is the rest?"

"Uh, well….You were dead Sherlock?"

"Mrs. Hudson." he said dangerously.

"I….gave them away."

"What!"

"Not everything. Only your clothes….I donated your science paraphernalia to the local primary school….I kept your books of course, there in boxes."

"Where?"

Mrs. Hudson pointed to the door in the hallway that led to another unoccupied flat.

Sherlock turned back to the old woman and glared. "This is the welcome I get? I come home to find you've gotten rid of my things. I thought people like you were meant to be sentimental and nonsense!"

"Sherlock!" John snapped, from the hall.

The detective turned to see his friend holding Beth on his hip and glaring at him again.

"Apologize."

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at the man.

"Now." John snapped.

"Na." repeated Beth in a harsh baby voice that would melt the world.

Sherlock tried to stand his ground but every hero had their kryptonite, and for him it had the name Watson. - And right now he was suffering from a double helping.

Huffing with defeat he turned to Mrs. Hudson. Seeing the hurt in her watery eyes his features instantly softened and he pulled the older woman into a hug. "I'm sorry." he whispered into her ear.

She returned the hugged, panting his back and sniffling. "It's alright Sherlock." pulling out of the embraces she slapped his arm. "Don't talk to me like that again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to John. "Happy."

John didn't reply, instead he turned around and made his way to the stairs. "You'll have to borrow one of my jumpers until you can go shopping." he called back over his shoulder.

Sherlock turned shining narrow eyes on Mrs. Hudson. "You see what you have reduced me to?"

The old woman laughed and slapped his arm lightly. "Sherlock."

~**SHERLOCK**~

When they sat down to dinner an hour later, Sherlock was wrapped in John's bathrobe, having refused point blank to put on one of his jumpers. He'd already called Mycroft as demanded he organize some clothing, as he'd allowed his landlady and friend to dispose of his things. Now they sat awkwardly at the table, Beth balanced on John's knees as they tried to eat their fish fingers and mash. To which Sherlock had complained loudly and had made it perfectly clear that if he'd had clothes with him he would have been dining at Angelo's at that precise moment.

"I'm sorry Sherlock; I wasn't exactly expecting to have to feed you and your picky palette. I'm a busy man and this is what single fathers eat."

"Why?"

"Because it's quick, easy and Beth actually likes it."

"Clearly she does not take after me when it comes to her _palette_."

John sniffed. "Thankfully she eats, which is more that can be said for you. - If you don't like it order a take away."

Sherlock looked shamefully down at the plate. "I can't. - Not until Mycroft and his cronies have sorted out my bank account."

"Oh, right, of course." John mumbled. "We'll have to fix that, won't we? - I - I haven't touch much, just enough to get pay for Beth's bedroom and the baby things."

Sherlock's gaze locked with John's across the table. "I was not attempting to indicate you should return the money John. I left it to you because I wanted you to have it."

"But you're not dead Sherlock, so me spending it is kind of like stealing." he said shamefully.

"I go away for three years and come back to find you've lost brain cells." Sherlock grumbled. "You…."

John glared at the detective. "Please refrain from calling me an idiot, moron or whatever colorful term you were planning on using, in front of my daughter."

"I should not need to say so John, you already know. - And I suspect so does Beth." he looked at the little girl and smiled.

She returned the smile brightly and looked up at John with a look that was completely a hundred percent Holmes.

"Great. You've been back a couple of hours and you've already corrupted her view of me." John rolled his eyes and shoveled a fork full of mash into his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you all for the supportive review, they really make my day. I'd also like to say thank you to those of you who have already faved and alerted. It means a lot to me. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"Are you sure Sherlock? I don't mind."

"No John. I am perfectly capable of taking the couch. It is your room now."

"Alright, but I warn you, you won't get much sleep."

"I've told you before John, sleep is boring."

John laughed. "Yeah, I remember. Well, good night then." John lifted the Moses basket off the stand and carried it into his room. Beth had been put to bed several hours earlier after a bath.

Finally alone, Sherlock stretched himself out on the bed and closed his eyes. Despite what he'd said he found he was actually tired. It was most probably down to jet lag as well as the excitement of the day. It didn't take him long to fall asleep.

As promised, he didn't get a restful night. At one in the morning he was awoken by a high pitched crying and the sound of movement in the kitchen. He'd rolled of the couch half asleep and made it to the connecting door when his mind had provided the information of a crying baby and his current surroundings.

"Sorry." John had mumbled as he'd struggled to hold a wailing infant and prepare a bottle.

"Here, let me." Sherlock had stepped forward.

John handled over Junior without even thinking about it, and with both hands free had hurriedly prepared the bottle.

Sherlock watched his friend, swaying the baby from side to side, hoping to quieten it. When John knocked over the half-filled bottle, swore soundly and began again he knew his friend wasn't coping. "Do you want me to do that?"

"I'm fine. It's not the first bottle I've made at one in the morning Sherlock, and it won't be the last. - There see, all done. I'll take him no…"

Sherlock snatched the warm bottle from his friend's hand. "I assume it is of an adequate temperature?"

John glared which the detective took to mean yes and gentle lifted it to the baby's lips. Junior closed his mouth around it and began to suck.

"Go to bed John."

"What?"

"You are exhausted. Go to Bed. I will look after everything."

John stared at his friend skeptically but after a moment he turned around and walked blindly back to his bed. Passing out almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

Sherlock sat down on the kitchen chair to feed the baby. He couldn't think of him as his son, he was John son. But he did feel as connection to the small creature and he wondered if it was what most people referred to as a paternal bond. He sat examine the child closely. Unlike Beth, he could see nothing of himself in the infant, though it was unlikely he would, the thing couldn't be more than a few weeks old. It had little hair, what it did have, was a light gingery blond, his eyes were blue, but then all babies eyes were blue. He had pouty lips and reddened cheeks. - Just a normal baby.

It didn't take the baby long to finish his bottle, showing a healthy appetite. Sherlock grabbed the tea-towel off the table and draped it over his shoulder before lifting the infant and gently rubbing circles into his back. Nothing happened for a while. Then there was a quiet little release of air. Sherlock lowered Junior and removed the towel. Turning he made his way into his old room, pushing the door open gently he paused as the sight of John sleeping. With a sigh, he lifted the basket and carried it back to the living room, placing it on the stand; he laid Junior back down, the baby already fast asleep. Figuring there was no point sleeping as he would be awoken again in a few hours for another feed, he decided to nose around the flat.

It didn't take him long to locate the documents obtaining to the children. The first thing he saw was the custody papers, signed by Harry Watson and witnessed by Mrs. Hudson and who he could only assume was a solicitor. The papers made it very clear that both children were legally John Watson's, Harry signing away all her parental rights to her brother. Sherlock came to the conclusion there and then that Harry wasn't quite the selfish individual he'd thought her to be. Along with the custody papers he found the birth certificates. Sitting in his chair, he looked at the two certificates with a strange sense of wonder, something Sherlock was not in the slightest bit used to. In his right hand he held Beth's… or as the paper clarified, Elisabeth Helen Holmes, born 7th April 2013. Beneath Sherlock stared at his own name, printed in black ink. Sherlock Winston Holmes. He felt his heart jump at actually seeing it written down, genuine proof of his claim to the child.

He turned his attention to his left hand and Junior's certificate. He wasn't at all surprised to see the child shared his Christian name; it was a rather obvious deduction when you looked at the evidence. It was the middle name that slightly surprised him and gave a bizarre sense of warmth. Sherlock John Holmes, 8th January 2015. Sherlock lips pulled into a smile. The child carried both their names.

Sherlock hadn't known he'd dozed off until he was awoken but the predicted wail of Junior. Placing the certificates on the table top, Sherlock leapt to his feet and retrieved the child from its basket, carrying him into the kitchen he quickly discovered just how difficult it was to move around preparing a bottle with a baby in his arms. Deciding that he could not hold the infant and do a satisfactory job at preparing a bottle, he carried him back into the living room, laid him back in his bed and just left him to cry. He went back to his work, and found the task achieved with more speed with both hands free, he was finished in no time. He checked the temperature on his wrist as Mrs. Hudson had taught him before retrieving Junior and settling down on the sofa for the four A.M feed.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Mrs. Hudson entered the room the next morning and stopped with a start. It was going to take her a while to get used to seeing the detective lazing around the flat again, but her shock vanished the instant she saw him lying awkwardly stretched out on the sofa with a small baby safely cradled in his arms. It was possibly the most heartwarming moment of her life, well after Beth and Junior's birth of course. She was still standing there gazing at them when John strolled in.

"Morning Mrs. Hud…."

"Shhh."

John looked at the couch and for what felt the thousandth time he stopped short and his mouth fell open, as he saw his best friend and son lying asleep together on the couch.

"Isn't it the cutest thing you've ever seen?" Mrs. Hudson whispered.

"Huh…." he couldn't speak for the shock.

"I'll go and get Beth."

John didn't acknowledge Mrs. Hudson's statement; instead he dropped down on the arm of his chair and just stared at the couch.

"Were you never taught it's rude to stare John?" Sherlock said, startling the doctor.

"Huh… sorry I just…never thought I'd…"

"Could you please retrieve your son, my arm has gone to sleep." he moaned.

"Oh, right." John rushed forward and lifted the baby, laying him down in his bed.

"Sleep well?" Sherlock asked, sitting up and rubbing his arm to get feeling back into it.

"Er, yes thank you. You didn't have to…"

"You clearly needed the sleep John, it was the least I could do. - Now what's for breakfast."

John rolled his eyes as he started for the kitchen. "Finished with the help then? Bored already?"

"My arm is still half numb and I would hate for there to be an accident. Beside, breakfast was always your job."

"It was my job, because if I didn't make you breakfast in the morning you'd never eat."

"Precisely, as the old adage goes John. - If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

"Dody." said a sleepy voice capturing the pair's attention.

"Morning little one." John said, dropping a kiss to her dark curls.

Mrs. Hudson handed the child to her father. "What would you two like for breakfast? I know what Beth wants."

"You don't have to Mrs. Hudson, I'll do…"

"Nonsense, sit down and relax."

John sighed as the woman marched into the kitchen like a sergeant major. "You know she's only being nice because of you, she's been a beast while you were away." John stated.

"I heard that." Mrs. Hudson shouted back, throwing a tea-towel at the back of John's head and causing Beth to giggle.

John turned in his seat. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"The only reason I wasn't making your breakfast, lunch and dinner was because you wouldn't let me, John. You were determined to take care of everything on your own."

John dropped his gaze with a sigh. It was true, he'd been so dependent on Sherlock, at least emotionally, that after his death he'd pushed people away. He hadn't wanted to get that attacked to anyone again. Then the children had come alone, at like their father four years earlier, they'd saved him. But he'd still been determined not to give away all his control.

He turned his head and noticed the papers. "Been nosing again I see. Nice to know you never change."

"I was curious." Sherlock answered.

"Well you know what curiosity did, don't you?" John turned a raised bow to Sherlock.

"I can't understand why you'd name him Sherlock."

"You can't? Of course you can't, you never understand…."

"What I mean to say is, he might have been better off with a more…acceptable name. I remember very clearly what it was like growing up with it….though Mycroft suffered more." he added with glee.

John shook his head. "I know it's usual but I always liked your name. Beside it's only what's on his certificate, everyone refers to him as Junior anyway."

"Dody, cusid." Beth interrupted.

John shook his head.

"Does she mean custard?" Sherlock frowned. "Do you give her custard for breakfast?"

"Yes, and of course I bloody don't, what kinda of father do you think I am." John snapped, before dropping his gaze to his daughter. "Later."

Beth looked up at her father and pouted.

"That ain't working either." John said. Lord it was irritating how much like Sherlock she was. Before he had found it endearing, she was a living reminder of his best friend. Now though, with Sherlock back in their lives, he knew he was in for trouble.

Beth turned on her heels and marched, unsteadily away towards Sherlock. She may have Sherlock's temperament but she had John walk. Pausing in front of the detective she met his gaze. "Cusid."

John groaned and couldn't stop the giggle. "Fast learner." he murmured.

Sherlock returned the little girls hard look and shook his head. "Your father said no, and I agree with him completely. Custard is not for breakfast."

If looks could kill, Sherlock would be lying under that gravestone engraved with his name. Beth glared at him for a few moments before huffing and walking away. John couldn't help but laugh; finally Sherlock would know how it felt. The little girl strolled over to the grey leather chair, pulling herself up onto it; she turned around to face the TV, before looked at John with that pout again.

"Keytoons." She demanded in a very Sherlock like manner.

John waited a moment before rolling she eyes and getting up to turn on the telly.

"You should not allow her to talk to you like that John." Sherlock observed.

"I shouldn't allow you to talk to me like it either. But it never stopped you bossing me around, or me jumping to do your bidding. As I said, like father, like daughter." He grumbled, dropping into the chair opposite the dark hair little girl.

~**SHERLOCK**~

John and Sherlock were sat at the table eating their breakfast while Beth sat in Sherlock's chair watching cartoons and eating jammy toast, when Mrs. Hudson delivered the papers to them.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said warmly, taking the large broadsheet while John took the tabloids. The front page to all said that Sherlock's 'leaked' files had been believed.

**SHERLOCK HOLMES LIVES, JIM MORIARTY WAS REAL. **Stated the Sun in large black print.

While The Mirror carrying the headline. **SUN REPORTOR INVESTIGATED OVER LINKS WITH CRIMINAL MASTERMIND.**

John couldn't help but grin at that. Kitty Riley had made quite a name for herself after supposedly exposing Sherlock to be a fraud, it was only right that she get a little pay back.

Glancing over to Sherlock he saw the headline of the large broadsheet.

**GOVERNMENT HIRES SHERLOCK HOLMES TO BRING DOWN INTERNATIONAL CRIMINAL.**

"I guess you're clear."

"Hmm." Sherlock folding the pages back on themselves so as to scanned the obituary column.

"You'll be back to work in no time Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson announced cheerfully, placing a tea pot on the table.

"Yes."

"What will you do about an assistant?" John asked, trying to sound casual.

"Won't you be helping him?"

"John has decided to forgo returning to his blog in-lue of being a GP and father." Sherlock replied, never lifting his gaze from the paper.

"But you loved writing your blog. - If this is about the children, you have Mary and Me."

"It's not just about that." John said tightly, his voice low. "It's dangerous and I have responsibilities."

Mrs. Hudson looked at him sadly.

"It'll be fine, Sherlock worked perfectly well on his own before I came along. Beside it's probably best if he keeps _a low profile_ from now on." John insisted, staring at the paper behind with Sherlock was hiding.

Mrs. Hudson looked between her boys. "Well, if you say so." she sighed. "I'll leave to two alone. Call me if you need anything."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied, turning his paper with a huff of frustration.

"What's wrong, nothing interesting?"

"Nothing worthy of my time." Sherlock snapped, folding the paper and dropping it on the table. "Mycroft, you brought my things, I assume."

John turned to find Mycroft stood in the doorway. He really hated it when he did that.

Mycroft arrived. He strolled into the blissful domestic scene. "I am not your personal shopper Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced up from his breakfast to meet his brother gaze. "Are you not?"

The two brothers shared a challenging look before Mycroft huff in defeat. "Downstairs."

Sherlock smirked at John, who shook his head and rolled his eyes. _Back to normal._

Mycroft glanced at the child sitting on the gray chair, staring up at him with a penetrating gaze. "Where will you be staying?"

"Here of course." Sherlock replied with a confused frown.

John turned in his chair.

"So you intend to continue sleeping on the couch?" Mycroft asked, attempting to ignore little girls gaze.

Neither Sherlock nor John replied, they hadn't really discussed or thought about what they would do long term. The only thing they knew was that neither of them wanted Sherlock to leave. John would never admit it but he wanted Sherlock back in his life permanently, even though he didn't want to work with him. The idea of him moving out was inconceivable.

"We'll work something out." John said insistently.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you all for the supportive review, they really make my day. I'd also like to say thank you to those of you who have already faved and alerted. It means a lot to me. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"I can't belief you did it." Lestrade said calmly from the doorway of 221B. He'd arrived around noon after meeting with the Detective Chief Constable in regards to the supposed undercover operation of one Sherlock Holmes. The man hadn't been over joyed to admit that the unsolved cases load had increased since Sherlock's 'death' or that he'd been more of a help than a hindrance. And Greg had had to bite back a smile when the stuck-up arse of a man had reluctantly told him to go begging to Sherlock to resume his role as Scotland Yards, go to man.

Greg had known the moment he'd read the paper that morning that it would only be a matter of time before Sherlock was demanding cases again, so he was more than thankful he had the Yard's backing when it came to the consulting Sherlock. - He also had more than a little suspicion that Mycroft had a hand in the Supers change of heart.

"It was a necessity. Now what do you have for me?" Sherlock asked from his grey chair.

Lestrade stared at the detective, finally taking in his surroundings. He hadn't been in 221B since the funeral. John had practically cut himself off from the Yard, with good reason, after his caution. Doctor John Watson now had two ASBO's too his name and probably would have had a suspended sentence and a criminal record if it wasn't for Mycroft Holmes. So he'd not been informed of the current occupance of the flat, which made seeing John fussing over a new born and Sherlock sat with a little girl in his lap rather surreal. - Especially considering the resemblance between the pair.

Sherlock clicked his fingers. "Lestrade?"

"Oh…" he shook his head. "Sorry…I just….who child is that?"

"Johns."

"Mine." the men said in unison.

"Oh." he frowned. "But she….looks like…."

"Can we get to the case you're Chief Constable as sent you here begging my help with." Sherlock cut him off before he could finish the statement.

"Oh…how did…never mind. Guess I'm going to have to get used to you do that again. - We've got a murder in Kings Cross, if you're interested."

John scoffed. "Stupid question." he lifted Junior from the changing mat. "When isn't he." he walked over to Sherlock and handed over the baby. "Here, Beth, come on, let's get you dressed."

The little girl huffed and folded her arms.

John got do to meet her eye level. "Elizabeth Helen Holmes." he said in a warning tone.

Lestrade watched the exchange of child and words with a quickly increasing frown. "I thought….?"

"Long story." John said as the little child climbed off Sherlock's lap with a pout and into her father's arms. John carried the little girl out of the room and up the stairs.

Sherlock got out of his chair with the baby in his arms and walked into the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world. His new wine coloured dressing gown bellowing behind him.

"Sherlock, what the hell's going on here?" Lestrade followed after him.

Sherlock glanced at him like he was talking nonsense, which of course to Sherlock he was. "I am attempting to feed a new born." he stated, lifting the bottle John had already made out of a mug of warm water and testing the temperature on his wrist.

"But…Where did they come from? And why does the little girl have your name and…."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and regarded the Inspector like he was more of an idiot today than he was three years ago. "I would have thought with the evidence presented to you, it would be obvious." with a huff, Sherlock turned back to the living room, talking as he went. "These children are John's as he stated. The reason the little girl, at this baby, carry my name is because I am on their birth certificate as their bio-logical father. I have no idea why John and Harry did not use their own name when registering them but…" he shrugged, dropping down gently into the chair. "…sentimentality I suppose."

"What? You're their….John's their….Sherlock you're not making any sense."

Sherlock groaned. "Fine, I will make it easier for your moronic mind to consume. John Watson used the sperm I left him in my will to have these children with the help of his sister Harry, who then signed full custody over to John. Are we clear now?"

Lestrade stood their open mouthed. He was sure that in some universe where the whole world thought like Sherlock Holmes, that what he'd just heard made complete sense. Sadly he did not live in that universe and what he'd just been told only opened up more and more questions.

"Now, can we get back to the case?"

"Good Morning." Said a cheerful young voice.

Lestrade turned to see a pretty red-head stroll in. "Who are…?"

"Lestrade this is Mary Watson, no relation. She is the children's nanny." Sherlock stated. "Case!" he snapped.

"Oh…" his head snapped around. "I said, it's a murder in Kings Cross."

"As helpful as always, I do not know why I'm surprised. Very well, take me to the scene." Sherlock stated got out of his chair and handed the child over to Mary.

"A Case?" she asked intrigued as she took the baby. "Sounds interesting." she smiled.

"I doubt it, but I'm bored and need to get back to work." Sherlock said, removing his dressing gown and hanging it behind the door, retrieving his old over coat. Apparently that and his scarf were the only two things John had had the common decency to keep. He marched into the hall way. "John!" he yelled up the stairs.

"What!"

"I'm heading out on a case, are you sure you will not accompany me?"

"I've told you already." John said, appearing with a fully dressed Beth on his hip. "I'm sure you'll tell me all about it when you get back."

"Very well. Lestrade." he said turning to the stairs.

"Bye then Sherlock." John mumbled, not surprised by his friends abrupt departure.

"See you later John." Lestrade said, following after Sherlock, still looking highly confused.

"Oh John!"

Watson paused on the stair way and turned to glance down the stairs. "What?"

"Be sure to get some decent food in, I refuse to eat that monstrosity you prepared last night."

"I have work Sherlock!" John shouted back.

"Very well, send Mrs. Hudson."

"Sherlock!"

"I will not be late. Bye!"

"Bee" Called Beth loudly, the sound of the door echoing into the house.

John turned to look at his daughter who was staring back at him, pouting at Sherlock's absence. He rolled his eyes and smiled at her. "Huh, nice to see where your loyalty stands…" he said to the little girl, his smile softening with distance memories. "Though I can't blame you, he had mine just as quickly." John turned and took the little girl into the living room.

"Morning Mary."

"Hey, John. - You really weren't exaggerating about Sherlock were you."

John put the little girl on the chair. "Sadly not, but you'll get used to it. And if he really gets on your wick, I'll understand if you want to leave. - Sometimes I wish I could." he murmured as he left the woman with the children to get ready for work.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Sherlock and Lestrade marched into Hospital to the surprised gazes of both staff and patience. Sherlock didn't seem to notice, with his head high and his arrogant swagger he just kept walking. The one thing he did notice was the feeling of having something, or this case, someone missing. He figured it was the same feeling people got when they'd thought they'd forgotten something. Only he hadn't forgotten John, the man had just refused to be a part of his world any more, and the loss was felt deeply. All Sherlock could do was hope that this case would turn out to be something truly exciting.

The two men walked into the mortuary to find Molly bent over a corpse, her hair tired back. Sherlock took a moment to observe her, taking in her appearance. She looked like she'd put on weight, probably after the break-up of her latest relationship with someone she worked with, as she tried overly much to look like she was moving on, but clearly was still attached to said individual, as she still wore the necklace he'd brought her. She looked up as they entered and froze, her eyes locking on Sherlock. He couldn't help but smile, he couldn't deny that he'd missed Molly Hopper, just a bit. She'd been such a help during the Moriarty case. He could never have pulled off his disappearance without her.

Molly straightened and just stared at the tall consulting detective. Three years and he hadn't changed, still has handsome as ever. Her heart skipped at the sight of him, and she'd felt over joyed to see him again. The feeling though was fleeting. "I figured you'd be in. - It's over there." she snapped, pointing at one of the tables, and going back to her work.

Sherlock frowned slightly but walked over to the slab, pulling open the body bag. He took a few moments to look the body over, from head to little toe. He took a few samples and turned to leave. "A coffee would be good Molly, I'll be…"

"Get it your damn self." she snapped.

Sherlock shot around to stare bemused at the woman. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me Sherlock." then she was marching out of the room.

Lestrade sighed. "She's been like that since…." he said sadly. "You're death really affected her."

Sherlock frowned. How was that possible? Molly was the only person that had known he was alive.

"She'll get over it. John seems to have forgiven you." Lestrade murmured, glancing back over his shoulder. "She'll be back to drawling over you in no time."

Sherlock shrugged and headed for one of the labs.

As predicted the case was far from exciting. In fact it was extraordinary dull and just proof how stupid Scotland Yard were. After only five minutes he had the how's, why's, and where's of the case. "The man's sister in law." he stated blandly.

"She has an alibi." Lestrade replied.

"Of course she does, he was dead two hours before the recorded time of death. She used the buildings air conditioning to slow rigor mortise."

Lestrade frowned.

"Then when she was called to identify the body, she reset the control. You're people really do need to pay more attention Lestrade. A three year old could have solved this." he said a little angrily. "Call me when you have something better." he said, shrugging back into his coat and storming from the room.

Sherlock was rushing through the corridors of the hospital, heading for the exit and home when he turned the corner and collided with Molly. She looked up at him for a moment, once again torn being happy at seeing him and fury. Sherlock nodded at her. "Molly."

"Sherlock." she said before walking past him.

"Molly, are you alright?"

The question surprised the young mortician. Sherlock Holmes was not known for his interest in anyone but himself. It brought her up shot and forced her to turn and look at him. "What?"

"I inquired as to your wellbeing; you seem a little… off. - Is it because of your recent break-up?"

Molly was about to ask how he knew then realised. "No, Sherlock, it's not." she moved to leave but the detective stopped her.

"Molly, I must thank you for all the help you gave me…."

"Don't!" she snapped angrily, her gaze burning into him. "Don't thank me Sherlock. I wished I'd never agreed to help you. If I'd known then what I know now I wouldn't have!"

Sherlock sighed a little. "I understand it must have be…"

"Understand!" Molly yelled. "You have no idea Sherlock. - Six months you said. Six months was all it would take to get rid of the threat to Mrs. Hudson, Greg and John. Well it wasn't six months Sherlock and you have no idea what it was like carrying that secret for three years knowing you couldn't tell anyone for risk of something happening to them. You can't possible know what it was like watching them mourn your loss. - Or what it was like to see John close himself off bit by bit from those around him. To become nothing like the man he was with you…"

"I know he was deeply affected by my supposed death. He has already told me this." Sherlock stated, only the smallest sound of guilt in his voice.

Molly felt her jaw tighten and her hands clench shut painfully. "Deeply affected? Mrs. Hudson, Greg and I were deeply affected Sherlock. John was completely destroyed….and it almost kill me to watch." she shouted, not caring if anyone heard them. "…Did he tell you he almost killed himself?" the horrified look on Sherlock's face told her the answer. "Well he did. Mike interrupted him before he could follow through."

"W-when?" Sherlock was shaking beneath his flesh.

"A year after you…buggered off. The anniversary in fact. Up on the roof. Mike found him up there with his service weapon. - I was tempted to tell him then."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because you make it perfectly clear that if I did, everyone would be in danger, not just John, but Mrs. Hudson and Greg. So instead we tried to help him through it, but he didn't want to know. He stopped helping out at the hospital, and we stopped hearing from him."

"He didn't….."

"Yeah, well John wouldn't, just like you didn't tell him."

Sherlock lifted himself to his full height. "I am sorry to have put you in that position Molly."

"You know what Sherlock. Shove it. I don't want your apology any more than I want you're thanks. The others may be able to welcome you back with happy faces and open arms, but I can't." with that Molly turned on her heels and marched away from the consulting detective without so much as a backwards glance.

Sherlock stared after her. He hadn't expected that, he'd thought that John would have been the one to be unforgiving, not Molly.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you all for the supportive review, they really make my day and help keep my mind working. I'd also like to say thank you to those of you who have already faved and alerted. It means a lot to me. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

Sherlock was working at the table with John's computer when the doctor arrived home that evening, tired and worn. When he walked into the room, he couldn't help but pause at the sight, the shock of Sherlock's presence hitting him once more. He wondered if he'd ever get used to seeing his dead friend alive and well. Not to mention whether he'd be able to fit his life back around him once more. He'd called Harry from work, wanting her to know. Her reaction had been uneasily calm. A little too calm if John was honest, after all you would expect some kind of reaction when telling someone that a man they'd thought dead for three years was actually alive. But all Harry had said was "That's wonderful news John."

John was actually worrying that Harry had slipped back into old habits. He hadn't seen his sister since they're visit to the solicitors to sign the adoption papers and he had a bad feeling. He made a mental note to pay his sister a visit over the weekend and check up on her. Hopefully his fears would be proven unfounded. Now his biggest concern was Sherlock and just how they were going to make it work, living together now that they were one room down and with two small children. He could only imagine what was going to be said, once everyone at the yard heard. But hell, they were already under the impression that there was something going on between them, and frankly John was past caring, had been for a while. No one ever listened when he pleaded innocence, so now he would just stop pleading and let the chips and rumors fall where they may.

"Dody." Suddenly announced Beth, breaking the silence of the room.

The little girl rushed over to John and threw herself at him, Mary smiling up at him sweetly.

"Hey, little one." John grinned, reaching down and lifting her up, before turning to Mary. "How was he?"

Mary frowned, glancing at the basket. "Fine."

"And how were the children?" he smirked.

Mary instantly turned back to John and giggled. "Oh. - They're always fine, John."

John's gaze flickered to Sherlock, whose gaze never left the computer screen. Obviously the case was all consuming. So much so that Sherlock probably wasn't even aware that he come home. He settled Beth back on her feet and sighed. "We'll you can leave, if you like. I can handle them from here."

"Oh…." she looked back at Sherlock.

"Mary will be staying a little longer John."

Okay, so he knew he was there. "Why?"

"Because we are going out."

"I've told you Sherlock; I'm not going to be your blogger any more. I'm not running around half of London chasing God knows who and almost getting myself killed."

"We are going to Angelo's for dinner." Sherlock stated, still tapping away at John's laptop. "And you really should think about a better security system for this thing John. It's the easiest thing in the world to hack into."

John huffed and marched over to it, glancing over Sherlock shoulder to see him trying to clear his website message board of spam. That was one of the reason's John had closed down his blog. He couldn't handle all the trolls that had decided to rub salt in the wound. "I could have the same security system as the Pentagon Sherlock, and you'd still manage to hack into it. - As for dinner, I'm happy enough staying in. We can order take away if you…"

"We are going out." Sherlock snapped, turning to stare up at him. "We need to talk."

Something in Sherlock's tone sent a shiver down John's spine. "About?"

Sherlock didn't answer; he simply turned back to the computer and mumbled something about getting ready.

John changed into a jumper and jeans, comfortable and casual, just how he liked it. Besides, why would he get dressed up to go to Angelo's? It wasn't like this was a date. It was just dinner with Sherlock. Normal, average, old routine that he'd missed over the past three years. John even missed the endearing way Angelo treated them when they were there, though he'd never admit it.

He returned to the living room to find Mary sat in his chair listening to Sherlock jabber on about a case, an old one. Beth sat in his lap listening intently. The look on her face he imagined resembled his own that first day, when Sherlock had amazed him with his deductions, no matter what Sherlock had said later, he hadn't lied to him. It had been real. All of it. Sherlock had known things no one in the world, not a criminal mastermind or the most manipulative person in the universe could have known. John didn't interrupt Sherlock's story, he just stood in the kitchen doorway watching them all, listening to the detective recount their first case. He couldn't deny he missed the adventure and excitement of working with Sherlock, but as much as he missed it, he couldn't go back to it. It just wasn't a possibility.

"Luckily John was there to save the day." Sherlock said, his gaze lifting to John's. "I probably would have taken the pill if he hadn't have shot Hope."

They shared a long look and John felt his insides tighten at the look in Sherlock's unique blue eyes. Shooting hope had a double meaning in that moment. John knew.

Clearing his throat, John straightened. "Alright, are we going or not?"

Sherlock got to his feet and deposited the little girl in the empty grey chair.

"No!" she snapped, clinging onto his hand with determination.

Sherlock glanced over at John confused.

"She doesn't want you to leave. - What can I say…" he shrugged. "…you seem to have that effect of some people." his tone was remorseful and he clearly heard Sherlock breathing hitch at his words.

Sherlock turned back to Beth, looking down at her small hand holding his. He could easy pull himself free of course, but he couldn't. She was looking at him in that way that only John had ever done. Complete devotion, even when he wanted to punch him. Crouching down, Sherlock looked into Beth's eyes and kept his voice soft. "Beth, we are only going out for a little while. Mary will be with you."

"No!" the little girl said stubbornly. "Me come!" she pouted.

"No. You must stay here and have your dinner."

Beth's grip tightened. "No!"

Sherlock remained surprisingly calm. "Yes."

The pair stared at each other in silent challenge. A challenge it looked like Sherlock wasn't going to win easily. It wasn't that he was softened by the pout or any kind of doe eyes stare. Beth did not do that, she just glared at him like a mirror image. It was easy to argue with John or Mycroft or Lestrade. It however was not so easy to argue with oneself.

"Bribery." coughed John from behind him.

Sherlock turned and looked at the doctor. "What?"

"Bribery, a parent's best friend."

"I do not think that…."

John cut him off by stepping up to his side and crouching. He looked his daughter in the eye and smiled. "Beth…" he sing-songed. "…If you let Sherlock go, you can have custard."

Sherlock saw the spark of interest flash in her eyes. She looked from one man to the other, her eyes narrowed, as if trying to decide if the reward was worth the loss. When John saw that he might lose his fight he added more ammo. "And…" he sung again. "…when we get back, Sherlock will ready you a bedtime story." John had to bite his lip to stop from laughing when he saw surrender in Beth's eyes and the horror in Sherlock's. He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's wrist and gently pulled it from his daughter's weak grip.

Sherlock got back to his feet, John with him.

"We won't be late." John told Mary, shrugging into his jacket.

Sherlock followed his lead, slipping into his coat.

John paused to drop a kiss on Beth's head before turning to leave.

"Kess!" Beth demanded.

Both men turned to look at the little girl. John looked up at Sherlock. "I think she means you."

"Sheelock, Kess." Beth said again, getting to her feet on the chair and holding out her arms.

Sherlock looked uncomfortably from John to Mary to Beth and back to John, who simply shrugged. He turned to leave only to be yelled at by a petulant small voice.

"Sheelock!" she screeched. "Kess!" stamping her foot on the cushion.

"Sherlock, just give her what she wants, or she'll scream the house down and wake up Junior." John groaned. "She's got a hell of a temper, can't imagine where she gets it from."

"Something you shouldn't encourage John." Sherlock stated.

"I don't. - But it's not like she's demanding custard for breakfast, she just wants to say goodbye. - It's not going to kill you, Sherlock."

Sherlock tried to stand his ground, but with everyone's eyes on him, he found himself walking back to the little girl, bending. Beth's small arms wound around his neck as she planted a kiss on his cheek. Sherlock felt his heart skip despite itself and he was thankful when Beth let him go and he could leave. - Which he did, quickly.

John looked back at Beth's bright smiling face and winked, before rushing after his friend.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Angelo almost had a heart attack when they'd walked into the restaurant. It had been lucky John had been a doctor.

"Get him some water." he'd ordered.

Sherlock response was to ask why Angelo hadn't read the mornings papers. Which it turned out he had, but there was a large difference between reading that Sherlock was alive and actually seeing him. After the shock had worn off, Sherlock and John were shown to their usual table by the window and given menus. Angelo then vanished into the kitchen to recover from the shock, leaving John and Sherlock alone to talk.

"So? What's all this about?" John asked cautiously.

Sherlock sat with his fingers steepled, staring at his friend intently. He hadn't been able to get what Molly had said out of his mind, which considering he had the ability to delete random, none important information from his hard drive, was quite a feat. Which meant this wasn't none-important. That John had almost killed himself haunted Sherlock. He'd known John would mourn and be upset but suicide had never crossed his mind and he hated himself, because it really should have.

"Sherlock?" John pressed with concern. "If this is about me coming back to work…."

"You're an idiot."

"What?" John frowned. To most people being called an idiot would be upsetting or infuriating, to John it was just a meaningless word Sherlock threw around when he was frustrated. "Why now?"

"What were you thinking, trying to kill yourself!" he snapped loudly.

John's features paled and his eyes scanned the restaurant. "Keep your voice down." he whispered. "Who… I told you I had a bad time."

"Yes but you didn't mention suicide, John."

John shrugged and relaxed into his chair, slipping down in his seat a little. "It was nothing." he sighed.

"Nothing? - What were you going to do, shoot yourself or jump?"

John shrugged again. "Hadn't made up my mind. - So it was Mike that told you."

"Molly actually."

John looked at him with surprised, he hadn't known Molly knew.

"John, I know my suicide was….but you should never have considered killing yourself. - I would never want that. Alive or dead. Understand!"

"Yeah, well I didn't want you killing yourself either but you didn't give a shit about that did you!" John practically yelled.

Sherlock met his angry gaze. "I had no other choice John."

John shot to his feet, grabbed his coat and stormed out of Angelo's fuming. _No choice? No choice?_ He marched away, ignoring Sherlock calling him.

"John!" the detective yelled, gripping his shoulder and flinging him around to face him.

"No Choice!" John yelled, not caring they were in the middle of the street. "You could have told me Sherlock! I could have helped!"

"They needed…."

"To believe you were dead, I know, you said. And what, you didn't trust me to play the game properly?" John spat back.

"It wasn't that I didn't trust you John, I just knew you wouldn't be able to do it."

John clenched his fists and his jaw, swirling around and marching away.

"John, I was trying to protect you, all of you. I couldn't risk losing you." he called after the man.

John ignored him and kept walked, barging past people without a care.

"John will you just stop being a child and talk to me!"

John froze and turned and glared. "A child? Did you just call _me_ a child?"

Sherlock swallowed. He knew that look, he'd seen it before. It was the 'I'm a soldier, I killed people' look.

"You're the fucking child Sherlock. You always have been. Walking around treating people like dirt, throwing tantrums when you don't get your way. From the day I met you, you've been a child. - Beth's more mature than you are."

"I hardly think so John." Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes, which only made John madder.

He stalked towards the detective with danger in his gaze. "You want to talk, fine, let's talking. - You're a bastard and I hate you. I've hated you for three years. I don't care that you had to fake your death Sherlock; I can even understand why you did it. I can even appreciate it. - What I can't fucking forgive is that you did that to me. That you made me watch you take that leap, on purpose. You made me watch as you're body hit the ground and broke. You made me watch my best friend kill himself after lying to me. - and you left me to suffer for three years, while you buggered off to God knows where with that bitch Adler."

Sherlock's heart was pounding at the pain and tears in John's eyes. "You'd lost people before, you were in a war, you lost friends." he murmured.

"You're not my friend Sherlock!" John shouted.

Sherlock's heart frozen.

"You were my life!" he yelled. "When you killed yourself, you killed me!"

John could only imagine how this argument sounded to people walking past, part lovers tiff and part surreal madness. He could feel the strange looked on them, but for once he didn't care. He was too upset, too angry. "I guess I just decided to finish the job you'd started!" John finished; turning and walking away.

Sherlock rushed after him. "I'm sorry John. If I'd thought it through more maybe I'd have done things different…." John sped up and Sherlock grew angry. Grabbing his arm he forced him to stop. "Stop! _Now_!"

John stared at him and Sherlock didn't see the fist until it hit him again, sending him staggering back into a shop window, his hand rubbing at his jaw that still hadn't recovered from their fight the previous evening. He'd been lucky not to bruise then, he would now.

"You know what Sherlock, why don't you just fuck off back to Adler."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed. "She was helping me, John. She had connection I needed."

"I'm sure she was. I'm sure she just jumped at the chance. - Maybe you should give her a call and she could help you now, she could take my place as your new Blogger."

"John." Sherlock groaned. "Adler can't come back to England."

John glared and forced in a deep breath. _Wrong answer_.

Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes as John marched away again. When had things between them become so complicated? Why couldn't they just go back to how things were? Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the consulting detective and the blogging doctor, that had been what Sherlock wanted. What had kept him going for three years, knowing that when he came home, him and John could pick up where they left off. Only it wasn't working out that way.

* * *

**A/N: Beth demanding a kiss from Sherlock was inspired by one of my cousins who would not let anyone leave with kissing them goodbye first. As for the custard, that's a nod to my niece who went through a slight custard obsession.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you all for the supportive review, they really make my day and help keep my mind working. I'd also like to say thank you to those of you who have already faved and alerted. It means a lot to me. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

John stormed into the house and headed straight for his room. He needed to calm down before facing his daughter and Mary and had to restrain himself from slamming the door, for fear of scaring Beth. He was yanking his jacket off and throwing it on the bed when the door opened and Sherlock marched in after him. "Just leave me alone Sherlock."

"No, we haven't finished talking."

"We're not talking, we're arguing."

"Well we haven't finished that either." Sherlock snapped.

John turned around to glare at him with frustration for a long moment.

"John, I don't know what you want me to do. I've said sorry, there's nothing more I can say."

"I don't want your apologizes Sherlock. Sorry's just a word."

"Are you suggesting I don't mean it? - John! I never apologize, to anyone, so when I say it you should be sure it's meant."

John sighed, leaning against the chest of drawers. He knew Sherlock was right. In all the time he'd know him, he'd only ever heard him apologize once. To Molly the Christmas before his supposed death. But it was hard to just forgive and forget, especially when, while he was going through hell Sherlock was off with that woman having the time of his life.

"Our separation wasn't exactly easy on me either John."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. Irene can be such a bore."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and groan. "What exactly do you think went on between me and her exactly? Do you image I was off having some illicit liaison?"

John shifted. "I don't care what you did."

"Clearly." Sherlock snapped.

John turned as he heard Sherlock's coat hit the bed, and saw the man working the button of his right sleeve. His heart clenched, wondering what he was doing. The lean man yanked up his sleeve so hard John heard it tear. The doctor stared open mouthed at the faded but still visible marks. He stepped closer, snatching Sherlock's arm and examining the marks, his thumb ruining over the lines. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He'd known Sherlock had a history with drugs, but he'd assumed it had been cannabis. To see needle marks now made his blood run cold. "Sherlock what the hell where you thinking!" John snapped, turning very much into the doctor.

Sherlock didn't answer; he just looked down at his friend. It hadn't been easy for him during their separation, despite what John wanted to believe. The track marks were the more visible proof.

~**SHERLOCK**~

_June 2013 _

_Istanbul_

Sherlock stared up at the fan as it turned and turned like the world around him, a ever constant circle, no end and no beginning. It should have blanketed him in cool air but it didn't. Instead he was wrapped in the heat of the country. He hadn't had any luck in his search. Moriarty's people were too well buried and he hand no one to help with his case. He was alone and the silence he'd once enjoy and embraced was now deafening.

He'd thought this would be easy. He'd expected to solve it quickly so he could return home to England and to John. He hadn't thought it would be so hard watching his friend lay him to rest, but that last moment with John, watching him from the shadows as he spoke to an empty grave. It had felt like he actually had fallen of that building. But it would only be for a short while, once John and the others were safe, he could go home and they could carry on as they were. Only it wasn't turning out as he'd planned. Six month he'd expected it to take. It was now a year, almost to the day. A year with no hope in sight.

His eyes remained fixed on the twirling fan above him. Stripped of all his clothes, lying on ratty sweat stained sheets, he watched. His eye lids growing heavy. It wasn't caused by the repeated moment above him, but from the drug coursing through his veins. He'd know he shouldn't have done it, but then Sherlock was well versed in making mistakes of late. He should have seeing so much he hadn't. He should have done and said so much he hadn't. Why should this be any different? And if he died, well, then at least everyone's grief would be real.

The drug was pulling into the dreamless abyss he so desperately wanted to be in, if only to stop the feeling of loss. It was so utterly painful, the loss. It felt like a part of him had been torn away, and he'd been the reckless surgeon that had done it. John was his phantom limb, he felt him there as his side, he even spoke to him, but it was all in his head. John was in England, probably getting on with his life. Part of Sherlock wanted that, for John to move on and be happy but there was a large more possessive part of him that never wanted John to get on with his life. Who wanted John to be suffering almost as much as he was. It was selfish, he knew that. But then when it came to John Watson, Sherlock was always selfish. John was the one thing in his life he could count on. The one thing that kept him centered and in control. Without him he put himself in danger. He stared down gun barrels and laughed. He allowed himself to be swallowed up by the need for danger until he was lying in a hot cheap hotel room with his blood tainted by drugs, just to stop being lost.

The abyss was slow in coming, yet fast in leaving. As his dulled mind and vision cleared he found a face hovering over him.

"John?" he slurred.

There was no answer at first, then a voice. Not John, a woman. - The woman.

"What have you done to yourself, Sherlock?" she sighed, shaking her head.

~**SHERLOCK**~

_July, 2014_

_Hong Kong _

Sherlock stared out of the window at the bustle below. It was three in the morning but the streets weren't silent like they would be in England, they were a mass of bodies. They were getting closer. They'd already found two of the three assassins and they'd set in motion his plans to bring down what remained of Moriarty's organization. All they had to do was find that last man, that last threat and then Sherlock could go home. It had already been two years since he'd faked his death and it was getting worse every day.

While Irene had help clear him of his drug habit, she couldn't help get rid of the feelings and nightmares. No matter how much she tried. And she did try. Sherlock had even given in to her once, in a desperate attempt to dispel the loneliness and pain. But it hadn't work; in fact it had only made him feel worse. Irene had made some humorless remark about it not technically being cheating as John was in denial and Sherlock was dead, which he'd ignore. What he couldn't ignore were the nightmares, the waking up covered in sweat, panting for air. It was always the same nightmare. He hadn't jumped and John was the one laying on the ground covered in blood. He stood in the darkened room, rubbing his arm. The marks hadn't faded this time, and he was glad. They were a reminder of his own stupidity. How he'd almost given up.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't turn at the sound of Irene's voice.

"Another nightmare?"

He simply nodded.

"Soon Sherlock." she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Not soon enough." he'd sighed.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Their eyes were fixed on one another as they stood in silence, John's hand still gripping Sherlock's arm. Times seemed to have stopped for the pair, neither speaking or moving or even thinking. John's thumb was pressed possessively against the marks and Sherlock felt his heart racing. John broke the spell with a breath, removing his hand for the slim strong arm.

"You owe Beth a bedtime story." John said, breaking the silence and tension.

Sherlock looked at John. "We did not get to have our meal."

"We'll order in once Beth's in bed, alright." John told him, turning away from Sherlock. "Then we can discuss what we're going to do."

"Do?" Sherlock frowned.

"You can't continue to sleep on the sofa forever Sherlock. We've got to figure out what we're going to do. - But first, I'll tell Mary she can go home." He headed for the door.

"John."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry John, for everything."

John sighed deeply. "I know Sherlock. It's just going to take time to get through this." he pulled open the door and left the room.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Putting Beth to bed turned out to be a unique experience for Sherlock. She'd curled up under her covers and listened to him intently, fighting to keep her small blue eyes open. He'd attempted to read the children's book John had given him, but found it dull and unimaginative, so had begun to tell the girl about another of his and John's adventures. She'd barely gotten half way through the case before sleep claimed her. Sherlock found another unique experience, watching the girl sleep, her dark hair fanning out against the baby pink pillow.

When Sherlock returned to the living room, John was finishing his phone call to the local Chinese. He looked up when Sherlock entered.

"That was quick, usually you have to read that thing three times before…." he looked at Sherlock. "You didn't read it, did you?"

"It's an infantile."

"Well, that's because Beth's an infant." John rolled his eyes. "So which did you tell her?"

"The Hound of Baskerville."

"Sherlock! - Well, if she has nightmares, you're dealing with her."

Sherlock strolled into the room and fell into his seat. "I find it unlikely that she would have nightmares John. I barely got to the hound itself."

John couldn't help but smirk at his friend. "You're voice does have that effect on people." he laughed.

Sherlock sent him daggers.

"So, how was the case?" John asked absently.

"Dull. - You could have solved it."

John wasn't insulted, what was the point. "Well, I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll find something soon."

"I doubt it. As much as Moriarty was a dangerous psychopath, at least he had imagination."

John shook his head. "Leave it to you to miss the madman."

"I miss the challenge John, not the man."

"Of course, silly me."

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, John turning his attention to the day's newspaper, Sherlock turning his mind to just how bored he was. He glanced over at the wall above the sofa where his target was.

"Don't even think about it Sherlock." John said from behind his paper.

"You cannot stop me from thinking John. - Sometimes I wish you could."

John put down the paper. "Bored I take it?"

"Of course I'm bloody bored."

"And you were expecting what Sherlock. That you'll just walk back into our lives and find the country had ground to a halt without you here to save us?"

Sherlock glared. "You are me obtuse John. I knew it would take time to regain my reputation, which however doesn't prevent me from being _bored_."

"What did you do when you got bored before you came home…." John paused, looking at Sherlock, Irene rushing through his mind. "Actually don't tell me, I don't want to know."

"Experiments."

"I said I didn't want to know." his mind taking a turn he didn't want it to take.

"Science John, Science. - Lord, I would have thought you're obsession with sex would have dissipated by now."

"I don't have an obsession with sex." John snapped insulted. "In fact I haven't had sex in months. - And considering you were with her, it's a perfectly logical assumption. She'd made her intensions towards you clear on more than one occasion."

Sherlock stared at his friend intently. "Are you jealous?"

"What! No!" John gasped.

Sherlock steepled his fingers and continued to watch John. Taking in the flushed skin, wayward gaze and slightly trembling hands. "Irene said you were jealous." he stated matter-of-factly.

"What? When? - You should know not to…."

"New Year's Eve, three years ago, Battersea Power Station." he rolled off the facts.

John's features paled and he dropped his gaze. "I wasn't jealous, I was concerned. - You were heartbroken."

"I was not heartbroken John."

John looked at him disbelievingly. "This is me, Sherlock. You can't lie to me."

The look on the detectives face said 'oh, really' and John swallowed a fresh wave of pain at the memory of the fall. "You'd fallen for her, Sherlock. It was obvious to everyone."

"I had not fallen for her. She intrigued me."

"Whatever you say." John huffed, lifting his paper once more.

"Is that why you hate her so much? Because you think I loved her."

"I hate her cause she betrayed you and almost ruined Mycroft. - And the fact she'd infuriating." John could feel Sherlock eyes on him and shifted in his seat.

Sherlock watched his friend's awkwardness, growing increasingly intrigued.

"Stop staring at me." John snapped.

"I am merely trying to deduce why you are blushing and fidgeting in your seat."

Unable to take the scrutiny any longer, John threw down his paper. "Fine. Yes, I was jealous, alright."

Sherlock actually looked surprised by the announcement.

"In the most childish way, she was stealing my best friend away from me, and I hated her for it, alright, happy now?"

Sherlock frowned. "Firstly John, Irene could never have taken you're place. No one can. I've told you before, I only have one friend. Secondly, I don't believe that is where all this hostility towards Irene is rooted. You disliked her from the moment we met at her house."

"That was because I tend to not like walking in on a naked woman." John mumbled.

"I find that unlikely John. You're a heterosexual male still in the prime of his sexuality, upon seeing a naked woman your instincts should not have been dislike."

"Like you'd know Sherlock?" John huffed.

The detective glared at him. "I've told you before John, I am…."

"Spare me the married to my work line Sherlock. We both know that if it hadn't have been for Irene's betrayal, you'd have slept with the woman. - And most probably have, considering how long you've been away. Three years is a long time to remain platonic in a sexually charged friendship."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, to defend his action. Yes, he'd slept with Irene, but it had been a one off, a mistake, but the bell rang and John was out of his seat before he had the chance.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so I hope the bit in the middle about Sherlock's time away make him at least a little bit more sympathetic. I can't imagine he'd have a fun time without John and wanted to show that their being apart could destroy Sherlock as much as John. Sherlock isn't as hard and heartless as he wants people to believe after all. If he was, we wouldn't love him. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you all for the supportive review, they really make my day and help keep my mind working. I'd also like to say thank you to those of you who have already faved and alerted. It means a lot to me. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

They sat at the table eating; the sound of a small baby's breathing filling the silence between them. John glanced over at the sleeping child for no real reason before taking a mouthful of special fried rice. Swallowing he looked at Sherlock. Thankfully the man had let the subject of his so-called jealousy drop. He didn't know why it was so hard to convince Sherlock that his jealousy hadn't been romantic. Somehow it seemed the detective had gotten on the John's gay bandwagon. Just as long as he didn't try anything, John would just ignore him.

"So, about the living arrangements." John said in an attempted to divert the conversation to safer territory.

"Huh, yes, well…" Sherlock glanced around. "I see you're point, although I don't sleep that often, the couch is not all that comfortable long term."

"Exactly." John nodded, filling his mouth again.

"I guess, I could move into the down stairs flat."

"Sherlock, it's covered in dry rot and mold, you can't live down there, you'll make yourself ill. - And as you're doctor I forbid it." John said sternly. "I could move in with Beth upstairs."

Sherlock shook his head. "That's a ridiculous idea John. That room is in no way large enough to accommodate three people, even if two of them are children. - I will just have to find somewhere else to…."

"No!" John snapped, then blushed and dropped his gaze into his dinner. "I…I don't want you to move out, it's not far, this place was you're first."

Sherlock lifted a bow. "We moved in at the same time John, together. It was neither mine nor yours first."

"Yeah, well. It feels more like you're place."

"I haven't lived here for three years John. Overall, you have occupied 221B longer."

John huffed at Sherlock and his damn logic. "Fine, I don't _want_ you to move out. You've been gone for three years Sherlock and if you move out, we both know what will happen; we'll barely ever see each other, we'll lose contact and it'll be like you never came home. - and this is your home."

"That won't happen, John."

The doctor fixed him with a steely gaze. "We both know that it will, Sherlock. You'll eventually get caught up in your cases again, I'll be busy with work and the children and we'll never see each other. It happens to friends all the time."

"It wouldn't if you came back to working with me."

John rolled his eyes and moan. He should have seen that one coming. "I've already told you Sherlock, no. I want you around but I can't be a part of that anymore. The kids have to come first."

Sherlock huffed childishly, reminding John of a certain dark haired little girl. "So what do you suggest? You don't want me to move out, we only have two rooms and you won't come back to work."

John pushed his food around the plate as he thought. There was one solution but it was well, strange and would most certainly lead to yet more speculation about their relationship. But he couldn't see another way unless he allowed Sherlock to move out and part of him couldn't do that. It hurt just to think about it. He'd just got his best friend back; he didn't want to lose him again.

And then there was the children, mostly Beth, he wanted Sherlock in their lives too. He was their father after all, biologically speaking. He could be one practically speaking to. John couldn't deny he had a knack for it. Suddenly he had a vision of them living there together, raising the children, Sherlock rushing around solving cases and coming home to them. It was a beautiful domestic vision of family life and it scared the living hell out of him. He pushed his plate away, suddenly losing his appetite; he couldn't even look at Sherlock, the idea still crashing around his head like one of those giant tree things in Lord of the Rings. Taking a breath John mumbled. "Well, we don't need to figure anything out right away; we can just….sleep on it. You can survive on the sofa a little longer." then he got to his feet and carried his plate into the kitchen.

Sherlock watched him. He'd figured out the perfect solution a while ago, but knowing how antsy John was about his perceived sexuality, he'd thought it a better idea to allow John to come to the conclusion in his own time, which he clearly had, if the sudden awkwardness was any proof. And John's reaction told Sherlock it was a ridiculous idea that John was never going to agree too, so he'd better start looking for somewhere else to live. Hopefully close by. Though he could never afford somewhere on Baker Street without Mycroft's help or a new flat-mate, neither of which he was willing to consider.

~**SHERLOCK**~

The first week of life at 221B was oddly normal; Sherlock found that once news of his return had broken, he was inundated with clients. He was with one when John walking in after another normal day at the local surgery. Sherlock was sat talking to a middle aged man with fiery red hair. For a moment John felt annoyed that Sherlock hadn't called him, then he remembered he didn't want to be involved in that part of Sherlock's life any longer, of course knowing that and feeling it were too very different things. As much as John told himself and Sherlock that he wasn't willing to put his life on the line hunting down criminals, he couldn't help missing the excitement their adventures provided. He took a moment to scan the room and found Mary sat in his chair, a pad on her lap, her pen moving with the man's every word. Beth sat at the Sherlock's feet, gazing up at the stranger; her hands flat together, mirroring Sherlock's own posture. John could only imagine what the client made of the scene. He certainly knew what he made of it and his heart clenched tight.

He'd told Sherlock to find someone else to help him; he hadn't thought that someone would be Mary. He was suddenly flooded with anger, how could a responsible woman like Mary allow herself to be pulled into help the man. Because it was Sherlock Holmes and anyone who could stand his temper tantrums was a suitable replacement. And Mary had always been rather intrigued by stories of the detective, this was probably a dream come true. Of course the problem with dream was that sometimes they became nightmares.

His gaze travelled past the red-headed man who sat talking on the couch to the basket at the side of it. As if sensing his presence the room was filled with a wail. Without hesitation John strolled into the room, heading directly for the basket, pardoning his interruption as he passed the stranger. He could feel the man's eyes on him as he lifted the crying baby out of his bed.

"You're Doctor Watson." the man stated, his mouth hanging open more than a little.

John rested Junior against his shoulder and smiled at the man. "Yes."

"I was a huge fan of your blog, Doctor."

"Thank you." John nodded, looking over to Sherlock and Mary who watched him with interest. "If you'll excuse me."

"It was a shame you were forced to shut it down, but I understand why you did. I still remember some of the disgusting, humiliating, not to mention disrespectful comments that were posted on the message board." the man sat shaking his head. "People like that should be arrested." he remarked sternly. "Worthless pieces of garbage."

John swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. Sherlock had barely been cold in his grave before the trolling started. It had been pretty light to start with, just remarks about how Sherlock was a fraud and that John was probably in one it. But eventual it got just too much to cope with, the jokes, the comments…the supposed messages from Sherlock. It was all just too much for a man on the brink of self-destruction. To his amazement it had been his therapist that had suggested closing the thing, kind of ironic when you thought about it.

The worst messages always came on the anniversary of Sherlock's supposed death. That first year he hadn't been prepared for them and that's what had pushed him to the edge, the same edge Sherlock had jumped off a year earlier. It had only been by chance that Mike had found him, or maybe divine intervention. His old friend and colleague had been sneaking off to the roof for a fag, having promised his wife he'd quit and had found John stood with his back to the door, staring down at the pavement, his handgun in his hand. He hadn't decided what he was going to do, shoot or jump. As it turned out, he'd be doing neither. An hour later Harry had told him about her little surprise.

"Will you be starting again Doctor Watson?" the man asked, breaking John out of his mournful thoughts.

"No. - I'm afraid my blog writing days are behind me." John replied calmly, ignoring the stare from Sherlock.

The detective hadn't mention his return to work, and hadn't spoken to him about the cases he'd been working on over the past week, which John was both relieved and infuriated at. Sure he didn't want to be dragged around London at three in the morning, but that didn't mean he wasn't interesting in what Sherlock was doing. They were still friends, and flat-mates, weren't they?

"Oh, that's a shame."

"Yes." Sherlock stated. "But my friend as made his decision, and as you see I have someone new to keep track of my cases." he indicated Mary, who smiled shyly. "So, where were we?"

John's tried his best to ignore the way his insides clenched tight at the announcement that Mary had taken his place. He also tried to ignore the jealousy that rushed through him as he stood on the threshold of the kitchen and watched as the man continued his story. He had the urge to stay, but Junior's crying was growing increasingly louder.

Sherlock lifted his hand to pause Mr. Wilson. "Would you mind John? We are trying to work."

John's gaze narrowed at the man. "Well, I'm so sorry if your sons discomfort is disturbing you." he huffed, before turning to leave them to their case. Not missing the surprised look on Mr. Wilson's face.

John hadn't known why he'd said that, and worst it hadn't been the first time. Over the past week he'd made that slip a couple of times when referring to both Junior and Beth. Sherlock always gave him a look but never corrected him, for some reason John still hadn't figured out. The strange thing was, it didn't seem weird or stupid to say it. Sherlock after all, was their biological father, anyone looking at him and Beth together could deduce that, but since the moment Sherlock had returned John had been determined to make it clear that the children were his, not Sherlock's, so the slips always came as a surprise. He knew his therapist would say it was all something Freudian, that it was his minds way of assigning Sherlock as place in his life, which was an issue that had been haunting John since the day one.

Walking into the bedroom and laying a crying Junior on the bed, he fetched the changing things from the chest of drawers. John shrugged out of his coat and went to work on the nappy. He could hear the murmur of voices from the other room and wished he could hear what was being said. Sherlock certainly wasn't going to tell him, and he doubted it would look good if he started badgering Mary for details. He figured it was just something he'd have to get used to. Not knowing. He was the odd one out now; he was never going to be the one Sherlock confided in when a case had him stumped. He wasn't going to be dragged out for a walk when Sherlock's brain seized up on him and he most certainly wasn't going to be the one who got shouted at and called names when he was having a bad day.

Sitting down on the bed, he lifted Junior into his arms, placing the nappy on the bedside cabinet for disposal later. "I should be glad right? If I'm not working with him, I can't get shot at? I can't be dragged out at all hours?" He murmured to Junior. "I won't be a target."

"You'll always be a target John." Said a voice from the door, making the doctor jump.

"Jesus Sherlock, make some noise will you." John frowning gasping for breath. "Why aren't you will your client?"

"I have everything I need for now."

"Oh." John looked down at Junior. "Interesting?"

"Seven. - Well, more a six and a half."

"Huh. Good, glad you won't be bored." John fell silent for a moment, getting to his feet to lay a sleeping Junior into the basket at the side of his bed. "So, Mary's you're knew assistant." he stated.

"Mary was kind enough to take some notes. - Though I think I may use her again. She seems very keen."

"I bet." John huffed.

Sherlock watched his friend's posture and fought to hide a smile. Clearly he was beginning to regret his decision to step back from his role as official blogger. "And she's not too infuriating. I think we could work well together."

John straightened and looked over at Sherlock. "Well, I'm glad you've found someone to replace me."

Sherlock didn't need to say it, it was written all over his face and John's heart jumped. Swallowing hard, he moved for the door. "Have you eaten today?" he asked in an attempt to shift the conversation.

"Yes, I had a sandwich at lunch. Beth insisted, she was quite adamant that she would not eat unless I did."

John laughed. "That's my girl." he walking into the living room, Sherlock on his heels, and crouched down to face the little girl. "A good soldier follows orders." he giggled, winking, and kissed his daughter on the forehead. She grinned back at him a thousand watt smile.

Sherlock stared at him. "You told her to make me eat?"

John didn't answer the question, he simply headed for the fridge, pulling the door open he groaned at the sight within, a large hand, laying on a plate, tucked in between the cheese and sliced ham. "Sherlock!" he all but shouted.

"It's for an experiment." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Get it the hell out of our fridge! Now!"

Sherlock frowned. "You never complained before John."

"I always bloody complained, you just never listened, but you're bloody listening now Sherlock, cause I won't have you contamination the children's food, so get it the hell out of the fridge, and the flat."

Sherlock sent him a challenging glare. "It's for my work."

"Well, then I suggest you get yourself an office for your work, because I won't have it in the flat. From now on Sherlock, it is a body part and experiment free household."

"Are you ordering me to move out of my own flat?" Sherlock asked, far too calmly.

John's stare would have burned a whole in Sherlock, if he'd had superpowers. "No, Sherlock, I'm telling you to get your crap out of _our_ fridge."

"Very well…" the detective's voice dropped dangerously. "I will, and I will begin looking for somewhere to live immediately."

"What? I just sat I didn't want you to move out."

"I know what you said John, but I think it would be best that I begin looking for somewhere, it's been over a week and I feel unable to sleep on the sofa any longer…" Sherlock reached past John and removed the offending body part before turning to leave.

"You don't bloody sleep anyway! Sleeps boring, remember! - Where are you going?" John called after him, slamming the fridge closed and following the detective as he retrieved his coat and wrapped the hand in a plastic bag.

"I am doing as you ask John, removing the hand. I will take it back to St. Bart's."

"Dammit Sherlock!" he yelled, as his friend rushed out of the room and down the flights of stairs.

John rolled his eyes at Beth and Mary. "See what I have to put up with? Still think he's so bloody wonderful." John snapped to the two girls before marching into the kitchen, swearing to himself that the man would be the death of him one day. That was if he didn't leave him first.

* * *

**A/N: Write this chapter tonight after watching this year's Bafta's, while I'm happy Andrew got best supporting actor, I'm still a little pissed off that Sherlock lost the YouTube award and that Benedict lost out on the best actor. It's so bloody infuriating, though I kind knew Dominic West would win from the moment I saw the nomination. I just kinda hoped and dreamed I was wrong. Sadly, I was not. Well, hopefully he'll get it next year. Give our favourite show the hat-trick. **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you all for the supportive review, they really make my day and help keep my mind working. I'd also like to say thank you to those of you who have already faved and alerted. It means a lot to me. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

Sherlock had thought he could do it. That they could do it. Thought it would be simple and easy, but it wasn't. Today had just proven it. Everything he thought he knew, thought he could count on was crashing around him. They couldn't go back. He'd tried to ignore the strain growing between them. He'd hoped that in time everything would fall back into place. That John would finally give in and come back to work, but he knew now that wasn't going to happen. Their lives had been fundamentally changed forever. It hadn't been till he said the words aloud that it had finally sunk in. _'You'll away be a target.'_

And it was true; as long as Sherlock was in John's life someone would always see him as a way to cause Sherlock pain. And while Moriarty had been dealt with, it was only a matter of time until there was another who wanted to outwit the great consulting detective and this time he may not get the warning, his enemy may just take the shot. That's why he'd decided it was time to leave, he didn't want to, after three years he knew just how painful it was going to be, but he couldn't put John and the children in danger. What kind of man does that to his family? No matter what people believed about Sherlock Holmes, he would never do that.

He suddenly realised that his biggest mistake hadn't been taking that leap three years ago and faking his own death. No, it had been coming back. He should have stayed dead, should have continued to live in the shadows where no one knew who he was, and where John was safe. It seemed all he was doing was trying to fix one mistake after another, each one leading to the next, but this time it wouldn't be a mistake. John knew he was alive and that at least eased some of Sherlock's guilt, but the rest would be eased when he'd given John another gift. His freedom. Freedom from the life he'd unwittingly pulled him into five years ago and the only way to do that was by withdrawing himself from John's.

~**SHERLOCK**~

John was sat in his chair reading when he heard the door go. Glancing up at the clock, he sighed at the time. It had been six hours since Sherlock had stormed out of the flat in one of his moods. It wasn't the first and John sincerely doubted it'll be the last, but he had to admit it felt different. Sherlock's threat of moving out had hit a nerve and John had spent most of the evening thinking about it.

He really couldn't imagine losing Sherlock again. Sure it was difficult, their lives we're taking separate paths slightly, and they had different priorities now. But overall, deep down they were the same people. Best friends, the core of each other's lives. Sure that core erupted now and then, they'd never been any different but they got through it. Arguments were forgotten, harsh words and insults forgiven. It was what made them fit.

John had to admit, Irene had been right about one thing. They were a couple. Maybe not in the physical sense but it was the truth, not matter how he tried to deny it. Life without Sherlock had been just plain dull, painful and completely unbearable. The children had been his saving grace, and he was sure that was because they were part of Sherlock. They'd been his link to the man who'd taken over his life and made it better. - Despite the pain.

He turned to see Sherlock stood in the door way, his hands in his coat pocket, his features bland, staring into space. John remembered that same look three years ago, when he'd thought Irene was dead. It was that lost at sea look. "Sherlock?"

Finally the detective turned to look at him and John saw just how tired he was. They really had to figure out something about the sleeping arrangements; Sherlock, as much as he would deny it, needed a decent night's sleep once and a while. He watched as Sherlock took a deep breath and turned towards the kitchen, heading for the bedroom. John frowned, getting up from the chair to follow him. Sherlock moved quietly around the room, not wishing to disturb the sleeping baby. He pulled John's overnight bag from off the top of the wardrobe and dropped it on the bed. John heart clenched.

"Sherlock…?" he swallowed, his heart pounding. "Sherlock, I hope you don't expect me…." he was cut short when the tall detective began pulled the few pieces of clothing Mycroft had brought him out of the wardrobe and shoved them unceremoniously into the bag. "Sherlock!" John snapped insistently, rushing to his side. "What are you doing? - Sherlock stop." Sherlock continued pulling out his suits and shirts silently. "Are you going on a case?" John asked nervously, looking from Sherlock to the bag.

Sherlock took a deep breath and shook his head, swallowing back his heart. "No." was all he could manage at present.

John's hand shot out to stop him. "Sherlock, for fuck sakes stop and talk to me."

Sherlock looked from the hand to a panicked John and he wished he'd never meant the man, for John's sake at least. "There is nothing to discuss John."

"Nothing to discuss? You're packing your things, I'd say that's something to discuss." John snapped, a little louder than he'd expected.

"Shhh, John. You will wake the baby."

John felt panic gripping him as Sherlock walking to the chest of drawers to retrieve more of his possessions. "Fuck the baby; tell me what you're doing?"

"I would have thought that was obvious John." Sherlock said matter-of-factly, in that calm bland tone he used. He heard the man growl angrily behind him. "I'm packing."

"Sherlock." he warned.

"Because as I said earlier I will be moving out."

"What!" His heart leapt into his throat and his head spun. "W-when."

"Immediately. - Mycroft had kindly given me access to one of his safe houses, until I can find something more permanent."

John stared at the detectives back. _Mycroft? He went to Mycroft?_ His brows drew together and he could already feel his hands shaking. "I-if this is about earlier….Sherlock, it was a fight."

Sherlock walked back to the bed, dropping the items into the bag and beginning to zip it.

"Sherlock, we fight all the time. It's what we do."

"It wasn't the fight John." Sherlock replied, still maintaining his nonchalant demeanor. "I just think it's time for me to leave. To let you get on with your life." he moved to walk past the doctor but John stepped in his way.

"So that's it, you're just going to leave. _Again_."

Sherlock stared down his nose at the man, his brow raised slightly. "Yes."

They silently stared at each other; well it was more than a stare. It was so intense and destructive that there wasn't even a name for it. But the room crackled and all available oxygen fled. Sherlock waited for the eruption, because John was always so dramatic in a subtle way but it never came. Instead John's jaw clenched tight and he turned his body, opening a space for Sherlock to pass through. The detective moved past the smaller man, his blood rushing through his ear. His head high, he marched through the kitchen towards the door, his hand gripping John's bag tight, so tight it hurt his palm. He reached the door and faltered for a second. Pausing. He didn't know what he was waiting for, but whatever it was it didn't come. He was only stood on the threshold for a second or two, but it felt like an eternity. He closed his eyes and breathed, then took that step that lead to another and another, until he was down the stairs and heading for the street door. When he heard John's voice behind him, low and dangerous, he felt the tears in his eyes and with them the memory of their last goodbye, only this time it wasn't death that was separating them, it was life. The doctor's words followed him out into the street, into a cab and all the way to the small dingy flat.

"Don't come back."

~**SHERLOCK**~

It was that feeling again, that complete numbness that had flooded his body and swallowed him whole. He was slipping into shock, his body no longer his to control. His legs gave beneath him and he found himself sat on the top step struggling to breath. His body was shaking as he stared at the door. He couldn't quite believe it, but wasn't it typical Sherlock. Storm back into his life after three years, just when he'd finally gotten it back on track, allow him to believe he had a future and then bugger off without so much as a goodbye. _Bastard! Bloody arrogantly selfish bastard! _John screamed in his head.

"John?" The voice was familiar and distant and filled utterly with concern. "John deary, John what's happened? John?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, calling for his attention but all he could see was the front door and the empty space where Sherlock had been.

~**SHERLOCK**~

It was a dream, a terrible painful taunting dream created by his subconscious, punishing him for moving on with his life and allowing himself to believe he could actually get away from the pain.

At least that's what John had believed when he woke up the next morning, no knowledge of how he'd gotten to bed. The house was silent and for a second John lay there with his eyes closed basking in it. Then reality crashed down on him and he remembered. He shot up in bed and glanced around the room in search of the Moses basket. It was gone and he felt his heart freeze with panic. That part had not been a dream. Had it? Junior and Beth were real, weren't they? Throwing back the covers John rushed out of the room and into the empty silent flat, his heart pounding against his ribs painfully. His eyes shot from one place to another, irrationally trying to locate what wasn't there. Then he was turning on his heels and running for the stairs, crashing down them like a madman. He stormed into Mrs. Hudson's place without so much as a knock, knowing the woman never locked her door during the day. He heard the woman squeal at his suddenly entrance but didn't care. His eyes fixed on the basket in the corner and the little dark haired girl sat on the floor, staring at a telly. John didn't pause for a second; he dropped to his knees in front of the girl and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her tight, turning his face into her dark curls and breathing deep.

That was when the tears came and with them the memories of the previous night, of Sherlock's departure. It hadn't been a dream but god he wished it had. A dream could be forgotten and brushed aside and ignored. A dream couldn't hurt beyond the waking. Reality however could kill.

"John? Deary are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked cautiously, standing back watching the man break in front of her, tears burning her eyes.

"Dody?" murmured a trembling Beth.

John pulled back in horror, realizing he was scaring his little girl. Looking into her small round face he felt his heart shatter at what he saw there. An image that had once been a comfort was not a painful reminder of a man he'd considered his best friend.

"Dody?"

Taking a breath and forcing away the anger and pain as well as the hurt, he forced a smile to his face. "It's alright Beth honey; daddy's just a little upset. I had a bad dream." that wasn't actually a dream. Beth reached out her hand and wiped his tears.

"Dody sad." she said in a small voice, and John had to take a deep breath to stop from breaking again.

"Just a little bit." He replied softly, his voice tight with emotion.

Beth pouted and wrapped her arms around the doctor, hugging him as tight as her little body could while pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Ahhh. Wit alwight Dody."

John's heart clenched tight as he hugged his daughter back, a little less desperately this time. "Thank you sweetheart, I'm alright now. You got back to your cartoons." John gave a watery smile, kissed her forehead and got to his feet, turning to meet the older woman's eyes.

"John?" she said in a whisper.

He walked over to her, dropping his voice. "Sherlock…." he swallowed. "…He's alive right? - He came back?"

Mrs. Hudson frowned up at him for a moment, before smiling. "Of course."

John closed his eyes and moaned inwardly. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"What? Why? - John?"

"I was hoping it was a dream." he murmured.

"What?" Mrs. Hudson frowned. "John what's happened? Last night you…"

"He's gone." he sighed, feeling suddenly tired and empty.

"Gone?"

"He left. _Again_. - He moved out."

"Out? But…"

"He just packed his things and left without so much as a goodbye or an explanation." he said in an angry whisper.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head in disbelief. "Oh John I'm sure there's a reason."

"Yeah. He's a selfish arrogant twat who only ever thinks of himself."

"Now John." Mrs. Hudson scolded. "You know _that's _not true."

"Oh really, then why the hell did he come back only to bugger off again? - He certainly wasn't thinking about me…." he swallowed; glancing over at Beth and the basket. "Or them."

Mrs. Hudson sighed sadly, she had no explanation, no defense for what Sherlock had done, all she had was a mothers love and faith that it had been done for selfless reasons rather than selfish ones. "Maybe…maybe he just needs time."

"Time. - He's had three bloody years."

"He wasn't a father for three years John." Mrs. Hudson stated.

John's gaze narrowed; the cool blue filling with a mix of danger and fury. "He's not a father now." he said in a low haunting tone that sent a shiver through the older woman.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know, I know. Poor John, bad Sherlock. But please don't be too harsh on Sherlock, after all he is who he is. He isn't on purposely trying to hurt John, he's actually trying to protect him, he's just buggering it up royally. **

**Beth's reaction to John's upset is once again inspired by my niece. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and feedback, it really makes my day knowing that you're enjoying this story. Sorry if I have replied to all of them, I try my best to do so. This is a bit of an odd chapter, written from various points of view. **

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Sherlock awoke and was instantly wide awake. He lay on his back in the small single bed, staring up at the grimy nicotine stained ceiling, the sight making him crave a cigarette or something stronger. The place was silent; sound wasn't even floating in from the street. It was just dead. Like him.

Once upon a time the silence wouldn't have bothered him, it would have given him time to think; only now he didn't want to think and the silence was haunting. He didn't move to rise from his bed, and in fact he was more than tempted to turn over and bury his head in the pillow, pull the covers over his head and return to oblivion, just to silence the buzzing in his head. - The echo of an empty voice carrying words he'd never expected to hear. As he lay there he could feel his heart pounding, his lungs expanding then deflated, he felt his stomach roll and heard the blood rushing through his ears. It was all proof that he was alive. - Then why didn't he feel alive? Sherlock had always embraced life fully. Enjoying the excitement of a manic reality, but now he could happy just crumble in on himself and allow the world to end around him without as much as a tear of sorrow.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring at the ceiling, he couldn't even tell you were exactly his mind had gone off too, but he was pulled out of his thoughts by his phone. He turned his head and stared at it. Usually he would have leap for the thing, hoping it would be a case that could ease his boredom, but he didn't move. His eyes just stared at it like it was a strange unseen before object that he had no idea how to silence.

_Answer it._ His rational mind insisted.

_It could be a case_. He didn't care.

_It could be John. _

Sherlock's hand shot out like a snake, his long fingers wrapping around the object. He hit the call button without even looking at the screen and lifted it to his ear. "John!"

His heart shattered to pieces when he heard a familiar voice. - That wasn't Johns. "No, Sherlock, its Lestrade. You alright? Where's John?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed warily. Of course it wouldn't have been John. The man was never going to speak to him again, and as much as it pained him it was for the best. "What do you want?" Sherlock asked with a tight empty tone.

"Got a case for you. Three dead in Clapham. - Will you come?"

Sherlock stared at the ceiling again, his eyes watching the brown stains whirl. All he had now was his work, so he may as well throw everything he had into it. He still had the case with the red headed man. Maybe if it worked he'd stop thinking, stop caring. - stop missing his life.

"Text me the address."

~**SHERLOCK**~

Inspector Greg Lestrade was waiting with a cup of coffee in his hand, his back leant against the wall, when Sherlock pulled up in a black cab. One look told Greg something was wrong. It wasn't that Sherlock looked practically tired or ill, it was just that there was something missing. He frowned as the detective walked over to him, his hands in his coat pockets and his back ramrod straight.

"What do we have?" Sherlock asked, and it was there in his voice.

"Jesus Sherlock, you look awful. What's happened? - Is it John?" he saw the detective flinch at the name and his frown deepened. "Have you two had another fight?"

"I'm here to work Lestrade!" Sherlock snapped. "So please." he gestured for the man to lead the way.

Greg showed Sherlock into the house where three bodies were lying on the floor, slaughtered. "The doors and windows were locked from the inside and there's no sign of forced entry." Lestrade said.

"Hmm." Sherlock grunted, as he walked around the room.

Greg stood back, watching the man. He looked like Sherlock, he moved and talked like Sherlock, but Greg couldn't get rid of the feeling that something had changed in him. He would have put it down to John's absence as his assistant but Sherlock had already worked three cases since his return without John and he'd seemed perfectly fine then.

Sherlock turned to him with that look that said he'd solved the case. Greg waited for the usual backhanded insults only they didn't come. Sherlock simply walked over to him, paused and whispered in his ear. "The murderers still in the house."

"What?" Lestrade frowned. "That's impossible; we've been here for an hour, we've searched the place up and down."

Sherlock walked out into the hallway, his gaze fixed to walls, ceiling and floor. Then he turned on his heels and marched straight out of the house. Lestrade rushed after him.

"Sherlock!"

"Call me when you have something worthy of my time." Sherlock called back, continuing up the street, not looking back.

"Sherlock!"

"He's behind a hidden wall in the down stairs closet. I suggest you hurry before he slips away."

Lestrade stared after the detective for a long moment, his eyes burning into the retreating back, before he turned on his heel and shouted orders to the uniforms. Not surprised that Sherlock had been right, five minutes later, four PC's dragged a young man out of the house.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Mycroft watched his brother as he sat in the dingy flat staring into space. It wasn't unusual for Sherlock to just zone out and stare aimlessly into nothingness but this time it felt different. This wasn't the only thing that raised Mycroft's concern. The fact that Sherlock had come to him asking favours was a much more alarming matter. What was happening wasn't a secret to him, but it was amazingly disconcerting. Five years ago he'd known John Watson's appearance in his brother's life was going to lead to changes, he just hadn't expected those changes to be so dramatic. He'd foolishly thought that John's influence would just make Sherlock less likely to fall back into old habits. He'd remarked casually that John was either going to be the making of his brother or make him worse than ever. - He'd never considered he might actually destroy him.

Turning off his computer, Mycroft leant back in his chair with a sigh. For the first time in his life he was baffled as to how to handle a situation.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Molly watched from the other room as Sherlock worked. Greg had told her something was off with him and she'd shrugged. "Should I care?" Problem was she did care. As much as she was still very angry at the detective, he was still Sherlock. And you can't just stop caring about someone you've spent years loving. He looked up suddenly and caught her gaze. Greg was right, there was something wrong. In his unusual blue eyes she saw something all too familiar, the same shadow he'd had three years ago when he'd told her he had to die and asked for her help. They looked at each other for a long time before Sherlock ripped his gaze away, grabbed his coat and walked out of the room. Molly didn't go after him.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Beth sat in the grey chair watching the door. She'd been sat like that since her dad had brought her up from downstairs. She didn't know what was happening, she was far too young to understand the complexities of human relationships, but she knew something was off. Her dad was walking around the flat in a bit of a daze, not speaking like he should. She'd watch him as he'd suddenly stop for no reason at all, glance around the room as if looking for something before turning his back and walking away.

And she knew there was someone missing. When she wasn't watching her dad, she was staring at the sofa or the door. She'd asked almost the moments she'd arrived back in the flat that morning. "Sheelock?" and watched as her dad's face pale and his throat bobbed.

"Sherlock's gone away sweetheart." he's said in a tight voice. "Here, watch TV. Do you want some custard?"

Beth had frowned up at her dad. "Noo alwod cusid." she shook her head.

"Well, maybe just this once." he'd said, rushing off the kitchen.

Since then Beth had sat in the grey chair, silent. She hadn't mentioned Sherlock again, even though she wanted to know where he'd gone and when he was coming back. She couldn't understand why the home suddenly felt different. - Or maybe she did.

**~SHERLOCK~**

It had been three days since he'd left 221B. Three days since he'd cut all ties with John, Mrs. Hudson and the children. Three days since he'd thrown himself head long into work, barely sleeping because it gave his subconscious a chance to torment him, barely eating, because nothing tasted right, and thinking more than he though his head was able to handle. Which considering what his head was capable of, it said a lot about his state of mind. And it had been three days since he'd slipped back into bad habits. As the small half smoked joint in the ashtray could attest. It was as close as he could come to actually shutting down. When he was stoned he couldn't think and for once in his life he liked not being about to think.

Sherlock groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and headed for the door. "Mycroft I've told you I don't…." he was saying as he pulled the door open and froze at the sight. "Mary?" he frowned.

"Hey." she smiled.

Sherlock just stood staring until another voice drew his attention.

"Sheelock!"

His gaze fell from Mary to Beth, who was looking up at him with beaming eyes, her arms outstretched eagerly. Sherlock's smile spread quickly, as he dropped to his knees to greet the little girl. "Beth, how are you?"

"Missing you." Mary said in reply. "And she's not the only one. You should see John. He's a mess."

Sherlock closed with eyes and huffed as he got to his feet again. "He'll be fine."

Mary glared at him. "You mean like last time?"

"Mary, as much as I appreciate your concern this is none of your business." he snapped.

"Maybe, but it is Beth and Junior's business and their mine, so…." she pushed the double buggy forward into the small flat, ignoring Sherlock's protests, and causing him to leap out of the way.

Complaining under his breath, Sherlock closed the door reluctantly and folded his arms over his chest, he turned to stare at the young woman. "So what, you've come to berate me."

Mary frowned as she unfastened Beth's straps and lowered the girl to the ground. Her feet had barely touched the carpet before she was running to Sherlock, arms out stretched. He didn't even realize what he was doing when he bend and scooped her up, holding her on his hip as he continued to glare at Mary. Mary smiled at the scene and dropped down into a chair, her eyes searching the messy room. "Actually Mrs. Hudson will probably be doing that."

Sherlock groaned.

"She doesn't know I've come. - Neither does John."

Sherlock watched her cautiously. "Why have you come, Mary?"

"Two reasons. First: I thought you might need these…" she pulled out a couple of sheets of paper out of Junior's changing back. "Case notes."

Sherlock walked over to retrieve them, Beth still in his arm, her small arms clinging to his neck. "Thank you. I doubt I'll need them though. - And the second?"

"I want to know what the hell you're doing."

Sherlock sighed. "As I've said…."

"Yeah, yeah, none of my business, I get it. - And as I said, if it affects the children it is my business, and this in most defiantly affecting them." she snapped. "John's miserable, Beth's miserable…" she smiled softly at the little girl whose head was resting on Sherlock shoulder now. "…and Junior's whiney."

"Junior is always so, he's a baby."

Mary met his gaze sternly. "I'm his nanny Sherlock; I know the difference between his normal whiney and his picking-up-bad-vibes whiney."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You are being dramatic."

"I'm being honest. Everyone's miserable, including you if the state of this place is anything to go by." she said, glancing around the mess.

"I'm fine. Everyone will be fine. - It won't take long to adjust; I was only back a little over a week. Hardly….What?"

"You and John were in each other's pockets after twenty four hours when you first met, Sherlock. A little over a week for you two is like a year for the rest of us. - And not to mention you've come back from the dead. He'd thought he'd lost you forever and then you march back into his life and now you've left him again. What the hell is with you?"

"It for his own good. - For all of your goods." Sherlock snapped.

"Oh?" Mary lifted the joint end out of the ashtray. "Including yours?"

"Yes. - My life is dangerous, John's made it perfectly clear he doesn't want to be in danger anymore."

"He said he doesn't want to work with you, that's not the…."

"Yes it is. So he's not going to crime scenes with me, that isn't going to stop someone going to Baker Street, that isn't going to stop a price being put of John's, or Mrs. Hudson's or even these two's heads."

Mary stared up at him. He really was doing this for them. It was kind of amazing considering what she'd read and heard about Sherlock. In fact, it was totally wonderful and just that little bit romantic. She smiled to herself. "Why didn't you tell him that?" she asked softly.

"For what purpose?" Sherlock sighed, walking over to the bed and dropping down onto it, adjusting Beth so she was sitting on his lap. "So he could tell me I'm being foolish and that he doesn't care, when he clearly does."

"So at least he knows why you're doing it." Mary defended.

"Would that make things better?"

Mary thought about that for a moment and came to the conclusion she didn't know. Was knowing that you're best friend was walking away from everyone to protect you better or worse?

"At least if John hates me, which I can be sure he does, he won't feel any obligation or guilt. It won't be a case of me doing something for him, but for myself."

Mary nodded. "So if he hates you, he can move on." she clarified.

Sherlock nodded.

"And what about you?" Mary asked after a long silence.

"I have my work. I survived without John Watson for fifteen years, I can survive another fifty."

"So that's it? You're just going to cut all ties and vanish again?"

"It's best."

Mary looked at Beth, who'd snuggled up against Sherlock's chest, her thumb in her mouth, sleeping. "I think she'd disagree."

Sherlock looked down at the dark haired girl and felt his insides tighten. It may have only been two weeks or so since he'd met Elizabeth Helen Holmes, but she, like her father before her, had gotten utterly under the great detectives skin. "She'll understand one day."

"Yeah? - Or maybe you will."

"Meaning?" Sherlock frowned.

"Meaning Mr. Consulting Genius, you're a family and always will be. You know being there isn't going to stop someone going after them. All it'll mean is that you won't know about it until it's too late."

* * *

**A/N: I decided to make it Mary that gives Sherlock a talking too because she's the outsider in many respects. Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and Molly are all part of their dysfunction family unit, Mary's just the nanny. – And as the outsider she sees thing the other might miss.**

**If the case Sherlock solved at the house sounds familiar, you've probably seen Whitechapel's third season. I borrowed their first case. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and feedback, it really makes my day knowing that you're enjoying this story. Sorry if I have replied to all of them, I try my best to do so. **

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

John stepped out of the cab and looked up at the flat. The day was like him, miserable. It had been weeks with no contact and now he was worried. Standing on the doorstep he raised his hand to press the buzzer and noticed the door was a jar, instantly the bottom fell out of his stomach as he cautiously pushed it open and stepped over the threshold. The air inside was stale; too many aromas to identify, but his instincts told him something was wrong. He felt a chill run down his spine as he moved deeper into the small spacious flat. The place clearly hadn't been cleaned in weeks, and that thought just made John feel worse. He should have come sooner but he'd been busy and preoccupied, and if he was honest with everything that was going on, it was just something he couldn't face. Turning the corner he called into the silence. "Harry! - Harry!" there was no answer. John headed for the kitchen and found himself frozen to the spot.

The body lay awkwardly on its side, the face turned to the wall. John's stomach lurched as he suddenly realized what the smell that tainted the air was. His heart was pounding at he continued to take in the scene. He was only stood there for a few seconds before he was rushing forward, but it had dragged out into what felt like a never ending spiral of confusion, fear and sorrow. John dropped to his knees beside the body and pressed two fingers to the pulse point, his breath caught in his lungs as he waiting for confirmation of his fears.

It never came. He released a breath as a weak pulse beat against his fingers. His eyes closed tight and he said a pray of thanks before pulling out his mobile and calling an ambulance.

"Ambulance…I have a young woman unconscious. - Yes, she's breathing but it's shallow and her pulse is weak. - It could be alcohol related but…." he paused as he took in the state of her body and his stomach fell away again. Bail rising up to burn the inside of his chest and throat while his heart crashed painfully against his ribcage. "…huh, t-there might…." he swallowed, forcing back the tears burning his eyes. "….We'll need the police too. - Possible s-sexual a-assault. - O-of c-course, my name, Watson, Dr. John Watson, it's my sister. - 15 Wardo Avenue, Fulham."

The woman on the other end of the line informed him that an ambulance and police unit had been dispatched and would be with him quickly, he'd politely thanked her and hung up the phone, staring down at his sister's prone body. Her clothes were dirty and smelt of smoke, drink and vomit, her mousy blonde hair was tangled, some of stretched across her face, some laying in the pool of sick beside her head. Her face was bruised and bloody, but the thing that really hit him as he looked at her, was her skirt, pulled high around her waist and her missing underwear. He found himself searching the scene for them but his vision was blurred and he couldn't breathe. He knew he probably shouldn't touch her, or anything but he wasn't really caring about evidence when he rearranged her skirt to cover her modesty.

His hand was trembled, the phone ice cold in his palm. He wasn't thinking when he looked down at it, his mind had turned off the instant he'd seen Harry. But his instincts hadn't, which was how he'd come to be crouched beside her, fingers pressed to her neck and then speaking calmly to the emergency services. - And it was that instinct that had his fingers moving over the keys, dialing a number. The phone was pressed to his ear, the ringing vibrating through his brain though he took little notice of it.

"It's Harry." he said the instant the line connected. "I - I think she's been attacked. - I-I…." he didn't get to finish the sentence as the line went dead. His hand dropped to his side, his focus still on his sister.

He was still sat at her side when he heard the sirens break into the eerie silence of the flat. He stumbled to his feet in a haze, walking through the front door. He paused on the threshold and stared at the blue lights as paramedics and policemen rushing up to him.

"She's in the kitchen." he said, moving out of her way. John stood back as the paramedics worked on his sister, and the police officers asked him pointless questions that probably wouldn't help. He wasn't aware of much going on around him, not even when a familiar voice floated into the recesses of his brain.

"Oh, God…" Lestrade said, walking into the flat and heading straight for John, his gaze shifting to the paramedics and the unconscious woman. "John? - John?"

The doctor didn't answer. Lestrade turned to the uniforms. "Alright, canvas the area, I want to know if anyone saw anything." he ordered. "John, are you alright?" Lestrade repeated with growing concern and then a commotion at the door caught the inspector attention. "Let him through!" he yelled.

"John?"

Another familiar voice pressed through his mind, travelling deeper than the first, hitting against a nerve, breaking though a barrier he'd put up without realizing it. He turned towards the voice and stared up at its owner. Then the wall broke down completely and the shock finally hit. He staggered backwards. Hands reached out to steady him, holding him upright by the upper-arms.

"We're taking her now." A paramedic informed. "Chelsea and Westminster Hospital."

Lestrade nodded. "Her brother will probably want to go with her. John?" he said turning to the man being held on his two feet. "John, you going with Harry?"

"He's going. You will take them to Bart's."

The paramedic frowned. "Chelsea's closer."

"Is her life in immediate danger?"

"No, she's stable but protocol…."

"Bart's then!"

Lestrade looked at the infuriated paramedic. "Huh, if it's at all possible, could you…"

"We're not a taxi service, we're an emergency service and we're taking her to Chelsea." the young man snapped, continuing to the door.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock and shrugged. "Can't force them to….Sherlock!"

The detective was leading a shocked John out of the flat towards the waiting ambulance. When Harry was settled inside, Sherlock pushed John to climb in as the driver climbed out. When a still shocked John was seated Sherlock followed after the driver, grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop.

"Hey."

Sherlock glared dangerously. "You _will _take them to Bart's or I'll make you wish you had." the threat was crystal clear in Sherlock tone.

The driver looked around. "Are you threatening me?" he glared.

"I prefer to think of it as a warning. - One you _really _should pay attention too. - I am not someone you want to cross."

"I knew all that stuff they said about you was true…" the man snarled, as he climbed into his seat and stared the engine.

Sherlock's fingers wrapped around the frame of the open window. "Where are you taking them?"

The man looked at Sherlock for a moment, wanting so much to defy him but also fearing to do so. "St. Bart's."

Sherlock raised a brow. "Good. Get going." he turned away from the ambulance and headed back to the house. He had a new and highly important case to be getting to.

~**SHERLOCK**~

John sat in the waiting room, shaking. Molly was at his side having been called by Greg and asked to look after him. Mike was with Harry. John was slowly coming around from the shock. He had no idea how he'd gotten to the hospital, or why they were at St. Bart's in the first place. He'd lost his breakfast almost the moment he'd hit the hospital, the smell of disinfectant bring home the reality of his situation. Now he sat there, his stomach sore and empty and his mind numb. His face was stained from tears he hadn't realised he'd shed. The only thing that occupied his mind was how he thankfully hadn't taken the kids with him. He was staring down into the thick mulch that passed as coffee as he waited for word on Harry.

Finally Mike arrived, walking into the room with a somber look on his face. John jumped to his feet and stared nervously at his old friend. "W-well?"

Mike sighed. "Well, the good news, no sign of serious sexual assault, though we've taken swabs just to be sure…."

"And the bad news?" John pressed breathlessly.

"Her blood alcohol level is through the roof, John. Frankly she's lucky to be alive. She obviously threw most of it up. Problem is she's still unconscious and with the head injury…"

"We have to wait and see." he sighed sadly.

Mike nodded. "There's also her liver. From what we can figure she's been hitting it pretty hard of late."

John dropped into a chair and stared at the grey floor tiles. "She's been clean for two years. I…I can't believe…."

"You know as well as I do John, there's no such thing as clean."

John nodded.

"Do you want to see her?" Mike asked.

"Yeah."

John followed Mike through to a small room where Harry was lying unconscious surrounded my monitors, covered in wires and with a large white bandage wrapped around her head. He stepped to the side of the bed and wrapped his fingers in hers. "Oh, Harry, what have you gone and done now." he sighed, pressing a kiss to her bandaged forehead, before dropping onto a hard plastic chair.

He sat there for a long silent moment as the shock and sadness faded away to be replaced with relief and more than a little bit of anger. "Jesus Harry, what were you thinking? You've been doing so well these past two years. Why Harry? Why do this? - Why didn't you call me or you're sponsor?" he huffed an irritated breath. "I can't cope with this Harry, not now. Not with Sherlock as well." he felt guilty instantly, here he was at his sister's bedside while she lay unconscious and all he could think about was himself and how it was affecting him. That was all he ever thought about. Harry had clearly been struggling, but had he been there? Had he called her to check she was alright? No. He'd just kept telling himself he'll do it tomorrow, or at the weekend or next week when life wasn't so hectic.

And what about Sherlock? He'd been selfish there too, right? Putting his need to have the man around before the fact that Sherlock needed to work. That maybe Sherlock was having trouble adjusting again after three years? And he'd dropped two kids in the man's lap without even thinking about how Sherlock would take sudden fatherhood. Yes, he'd been a complete selfish bastard these past few weeks, and months and maybe this was his punishment. - There he went again, this wasn't his punishment, it was Harry's tragedy.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Sherlock watched his friend through the window of the hospital room, unsure whether to go inside. He wanted to put John's mind at ease concerning his sister's supposed attack but couldn't quite find the courage to interrupt him. After all they hadn't spoken since he'd left Baker Street. Mary's words from a few days ago had been haunting him. He'd thought he'd left to protect them, but the truth was, he was being selfish. He'd said it was for John good, when the truth was it was for his. Before it had been so simply, living with John. Now? Now it just seemed impossible. The tension was suffocating, and while he had to admit he enjoyed being around Beth, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding into John new life and it hurt.

It hurt that they couldn't just get back to how it had been before, when all that mattered was the next adventure. He hated that John was putting something and someone else above him. Even though those someone's were his children. And he hated that the realization of his feelings, thanks to Irene, were like a ghost never to be vanquished, not that he believed in ghosts. Sherlock wasn't stupid or foolish enough to think that anything could happen, he wasn't even sure he wanted it to, but he'd hoped to spend his life with John, solving cases, living under the same roof, but John didn't want that. First it was the cases to go and then the kitchen experiments, how long until it was him? How long till John grew tired of having him around all the time? That was why he'd left really, because he couldn't face that moment when John asked him to leave.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and feedback, it really makes my day knowing that you're enjoying this story. Sorry if I have replied to all of them, I try my best to do so. P.S – this story has not been beta'ed so will have spelling and grammar mistake. I apologize for them. **

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

John looked up as the door opened to reveal Sherlock, noting how terrible the slightly younger man looked with dark rings under his eyes. He imagined he looked in a similar state himself, having barely slept since Sherlock's departure. He told himself and everyone that it was Junior that kept him awake, but they all knew it wasn't. Sherlock pausing at the end of the bed and John watched him looking down at the unconscious women, his hands in his coat pockets and his back straight. His breathing was erratic; John could only assume he was fight discomfort, the situation between them being what it was. He wondered why the hell he'd phoned him in the first place, but then the answer was obvious. He'd needed him and despite everything, Sherlock had come, just as John had known he would.

"She wasn't attacked." Sherlock suddenly said matter-of-factly

John's gaze widened and he stared up at his friend, open mouthed.

"It was a drunken accident…"

"But the underwear?"

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "I can only assume in her drunken state she forget to put them on."

John looked at his sister, relieved and angry. "So she was pulling a 'Spears'."

Sherlock frowned at him and John almost laughed. "Sorry, pop culture reference. I forgot who I was talking to."

"Never the less, she slipped on a pool of water, hitting her head on the corner of the kitchen counter and knocking herself out."

John nodded as he listened. He closed his eyes and breathed. It had almost killed him walking into that flat and seeing Harry like that; it was on par with seeing Sherlock's dead body on the pavement outside the hospital. The idea of her being attacked was earth shattering. He was amazed if he was honest that he'd been able to call for help, he'd been in such a state. Sure he'd seen worse but the bodies he'd seen through his life were strangers, just nameless faces that passed him by, Harry was his sister, she'd helped him through the hardest time of his life and she'd given him so much more than he could ever thank her for. "She's been doing so well…" he sighed. "Sober for two years. I can't think what caused…"

"Depression…" Sherlock stated calmly. "I'd surmise post natal"

John's head snapped round. "What?"

"We found anti-depressants in her bathroom. Mixing them with alcohol probably contributed to the accident. There dated five weeks ago."

_Post natal depression? Harry was depressed? _John sat in shock looking from Sherlock to Harry and back again, a fresh wave of guilt hitting him. "I - I - Oh, God." He dropped his head into his hands. She was depressed because of him, because he'd asked her to have another child and once she'd given him it, he'd turned his back on her and left her to deal with it on her own. What kind of brother was he? Sure, she'd covered it up; she's spoken to him without showing any sign of distress. After all Harry was used to covering up her problems, John knew that, but he was a doctor, he should have known something was wrong. – But he did know, didn't he. He'd thought there was something wrong weeks ago, but he'd brushed it aside to concentrate on his own life. - On Sherlock and the kids, without giving Harry a second thought.

"You couldn't have known John." Sherlock insisted, turning finally to stare at the doctor.

"I should have. I'm a doctor. I should have seen the signs." He scolded himself. "I should have made sure she was alright." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but John kept talking. "But how could I when I haven't seen Harry in weeks. No, I just took her children and the buggered off without so much as a by your leave. I didn't think once about how all this might be affecting her, cause I'm a selfish bastard who only thinks of myself and what I want."

"John!" Sherlock snapped angrily. "You are the least selfish person I know. All you do is think about others, it's what I admire most about you. You keep me from putting my foot in it constantly. You keep me human. – Harry's good at keeping secrets, we both know that. – granted she could never keep them from me but I was not here. – If she did not want you to know about the depression, you wouldn't. You told me yourself that it took you all years to realize she was drinking. – As for you taking her children. Don't be such a moron, you did not _take_ her children, she gave them to you, and they are _your_ children." Sherlock lectured harshly, angry at his friend's attempts at self-sacrifice.

John shook his head stubbornly. "No. - No, their hers. - And yours."

"John!" Sherlock snapped furiously.

John was on his feet, his gaze fixed on his sister, tears pooling in his eyes. "I just keep screwing up everyone's lives."

"John." Sherlock sighed. "You've done nothing of the sort. Stop trying to be a martyr. We are the ones messing up your life."

John glared at him. "Harry isn't doing this to mess up my life." He said angrily. "She's hurt and broken and I just went and made it worse. I had to have another child." He scolded himself again. "I had to have the children. She should never have done it, but I just had to have a part of you in my life."

Sherlock swallowed hard at the emotion rushing though him at his friend's pain. "John, you're being irrational…." He sighed, stepping forward. "…you didn't ask Harry to do this, she offered, it was her gift to you…."

John wasn't listening, he couldn't think. He needed air, needed to get away. He headed for the door but Sherlock stepped in between them.

"Where are you going?" he asked worriedly. He'd never seen John like this, it….it wasn't John. "John?"

"I - I need some time, I need…" John shoved past Sherlock and left the room, the detective watching him go unable to do anything to stop him.

~**SHERLOCK**~

John headed straight for the roof, not caring about the rain that was pelting down over London. He rushed breathlessly towards the edge of the rood and froze, looking down at the parking area. Watching an ambulance pulling in, watching nurses and doctor rushing out to meet it, the day carried that feeling as it had two years ago when he'd come up here intending to end it. As it had the year before that when his best friend had stood on this exact spot and said goodbye. It was an eerie silent feeling, like you get at a cemetery, where the whole world carries on oblivious while you're surrounded by as unbreakable bubble. It was the silence people craved without knowing it.

"Am I going to have you on my table?" Suddenly asked a small, quiet voice from behind him.

John turned slightly to see Molly, standing beneath a bright red umbrella, bracing herself against the rain as she watched him. Sighing he turned back to the view. "I'm not going to jump." he stated warily.

"Glad to hear it."

"What do you want Molly?"

"Came to get some fresh air." she answered matter-of-factly, walking to stand at the doctor's side.

"It's pissing down."

"So it is." she smiled up at him shyly. "Sorry about your sister."

John looked down at the young woman. "Thanks."

They stood there in silence for a long few moments, listening to the rain pelt against the stone, the wind in their ears. John's hands shoved deep into his jacket pocket as he got wetter and wetter from the down pour, while Molly stayed dry.

"You don't have to baby-sit me; I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"I know. - Thought you might want someone to talk."

They fell silent again, the pair just staring straight ahead across the street.

"I almost lost her." John suddenly said in a small tired voice. "She could have died because of me."

Molly looked up at him. "It was an accident John; you had nothing to do with it."

"I should never have let her have the kids. She was the perfect candidate for post natal. – I should have put my foot down."

Molly sighed sadly. "From what I've heard, she didn't exactly give you a choice. – She wanted this for you…he knew you needed something to live for."

John shook his head. "It's a punishment you know."

Molly frowned with confusion. "What?"

"I get Sherlock back only to lose Harry."

"John, you haven't lost Harry. She'll be fine. – this isn't a universal balance thing." Molly insisted. "You're not being punished for wanting him back."

"So what do you call it?"

"Coincidence."

John scoffed. "Yeah."

"John, I'm serious, you can't think that the universe is out to get you."

John turned away from the view and sat cautiously down on the edge of the roof. Molly towered over him as they drifted into silence again.

"I wanted to kill him you know." Molly suddenly announced.

John glanced up at her. "What?"

"Sherlock, I wanted to kill him, every day for three years. Every time I saw how bad it was for you and Mrs. Hudson." She shook her head, staring off into the distance. "At the funeral, part of me wished he'd actually done it."

John's eyes widened with realization. "You mean…you…"

Molly smiled sadly at him. "He needed someone's help."

"I – I thought it was Mycroft."

"No, he needed someone who wasn't important, who they wouldn't be watching."

John clenched his jaw angrily. It always angered him that Molly thought such of herself. "You are important, Molly."

"No, I'm not."

John watched the young woman sympathetically. He knew he should probably be mad at her for helping Sherlock fake his death and for lying to him for three years, but he just couldn't. He probably would have done the same in her position, after all her devotion to Sherlock was on par with his own. "Molly, he wouldn't have gone to you if you weren't important."

Molly shook her head sadly. "You don't have to say that John. I come to my senses a long time ago."

"I'm not just saying it Molly. I know Sherlock can be…well, Sherlock but I honestly believe he does care about you, in his own way."

"Maybe, but I'm not important to him. – not like you."

John swallowed hard.

"I've spent years pining away for him. Just waiting, telling myself that one day he'll turn around and notice me…" Molly said, turning to look out at the street, her tone soft. "…you know when I finally woke up and realized I was fooling myself and that I never had a chance."

John looked up at her curiously, remaining silent.

"The day before he died, well pretended to anyway. - We were in the lab, he was investigating those missing children..."

"I remember." John murmured, like he'd ever forget that week.

"Of course you do. Well, that's when I knew. I saw it in his face."

"What?"

"Fear and sadness" Molly replied coolly. "I've known Sherlock almost as long as Greg and Mrs. Hudson and in all that time I'd never seen anything but arrogance and excitement on his face. I'd certainly never seen fear but it was there that day, every time he glanced across the room at you." She thought back to the day, the look in Sherlock eyes as he tried not to show his feelings. She suddenly felt a little guilty for how she'd been treating the detective since his return. Sure it had been hard for her and for John, but it was probably just as hard and painful for Sherlock.

John's back stiffened. "It doesn't mean anything. Moriarty was…."

"John." Molly stopped his denial mid-sentence. "I know what I saw. The look on his face…." she shook her head. "…I didn't even see that look when he came to identify that woman. It was a look I'd seen before and I knew what it was and what it meant. - That's when I knew for Sherlock there'd be no one but you."

"Molly we're not. - I'm not…."

"I know, you're not gay. - So you don't look at Sherlock and instantly want to jump his bones." she laughed slightly at his horrified face. "It's irrelevant John. You two are the definition of a couple, a relationship. – You're what we all want. What I wanted. – I know you two are having some problems right now but think of it this way, you've got a second chance, maybe you should stop think that you're being punished in some way or other and just make the most of what you've gotten back."

"I wish everyone would just stop trying to make something out of mine and Sherlock's _friendship_." he snapped.

"John we're not _making_ something out of your friendship. We're just seeing what's already there." Molly looked up at the sky and smiled. "Rains stopped. I've got to get back to work. Try not to do anything stupid." She smiled as she lowered her umbrella and headed for the door.

John watched her leave feeling drained, tired and confused.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and feedback, it really makes my day knowing that you're enjoying this story. Sorry if I have replied to all of them, I try my best to do so. P.S – this story has not been beta'ed so will have spelling and grammar mistake. I apologize for them. **

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Sherlock left the hospital feeling the desperate need for a cigarette. He fished into his pockets and pulled out the packet he'd brought the day before. He lit one up the instant fresh air hit his lungs. He'd been fighting the need from the moment he'd gotten John's phone call; luckily the desire to solve the case and help John outweighed everything else, until he'd seen John come apart in his sisters flat. He'd never actually seen anyone he'd cared about like that before and it had been unnerving to say the least.

It hadn't taken him long to solve the case, no more than five minutes, maybe seven. Then Lestrade had driven him to the hospital so he could put John's mind at ease about his sisters supposed attack. The drive had been carried out in silence for the most part. Except for a few minutes when Lestrade felt it necessary to talk.

"I hated seeing him like that again." Greg said matter-of-factly.

Sherlock didn't reply, his just fixed his gaze out of the car window.

"Reminded me of when we lost you." Greg glanced over at the detective. "Only he was worse then."

"As I have already been informed." Sherlock said coolly. Was everyone determined to fuel his guilt? He'd made a decision for the wellbeing of everyone, why couldn't they all see that. Why did they have to keep trying to make him feel guilty for doing the right thing? - Besides, he didn't need their help, he felt guilty enough already.

"I'm just saying Sherlock."

"What Lestrade? What are you saying?" Sherlock snapped, glaring at the inspector.

Greg clenched his jaw tight. "That you pissing off and faking your death cause a lot of pain, especially to John."

"Again, I am aware…"

"Are you? Sure, you've been told." Greg said harshly. "I'm sure John and Mrs. Hudson and everyone has told you all about it. But now, now you've seen just a smidgen of what it was like." He took a deep breath, his hands tightening around the wheel. "When I arrived at the hospital Sherlock, I was upset. Mrs. Hudson was in tears….but John….Sherlock, he was unconscious. He passed out for Pete's sake. That's how bad the shock was. And when he finally came round, he may as well have been comatose."

Sherlock swallowed hard, turning back to the passing traffic. He didn't need to hear thing. No, he didn't want to hear this. He was already painfully aware how he'd screwed up his friend's life.

"And don't sit there and pretend you don't care Sherlock, cause I know its shit."

"I never denied I cared, Lestrade. - I simply do not understand why everyone feels it necessary to tell me, over and over again that I hurt my best friend, I know this, alright. I get it. I screwed up and because of me John went through three years of _hell_."

Lestrade stared at Sherlock as his tone got louder and harsher.

"I can't change what I did, and even if I could I wouldn't. It was the right decision. The only thing I would chance if such a thing was ever possible would be meeting John Watson in the first place."

A loud honking echoed through the car pulling Lestrade from his shocked staring, he turned his attention back to the road and moved away from the traffic lights. He'd never really thought about how it had affect Sherlock. He guessed like everyone he'd thought the man was untouchable, emotionally. His current tour de force proved how wrong they all were.

Ten minutes after that they'd pulled into the hospital car park and the conversation was forgotten. Sherlock had rushed off, in a calm and cool manner to tell John what he'd learnt while Lestrade hung around the waiting room for no real reason.

Sherlock hadn't hung around after John had left needing air. He'd wanted to, if he was honest, but he didn't see the point, especially considering they were barely speaking. Now he stood outside the hospital taking long drags from his cigarette. He was a few feet away from where he'd supposedly leapt to his death three years earlier. He glanced up at the roof and saw two figures, easily recognizable as John and Molly. He sighed as he deduced they were discussing the current situation between him and John. He saw the moment Molly told the doctor that she'd been the one to help him. To his surprise John showed no signs of anger, only weariness. And who could blame him. Sherlock felt the same.

He dropped the half smoked cigarette on the ground, pressing the toe of his shoe into it and shoved his hands into his pockets. Taking a deep breath he turned away from the hospital, heading back towards the main street.

~**SHERLOCK**~

John returned to his sister room and found it empty but for the still unconscious woman. It wasn't really that much of a surprise that Sherlock hadn't hung around. After all, he was the least patient man he knew. Sitting by a hospital bedside was the last thing he wanted to be doing. But there had been a little bit of him that had hoped he was still going to be there.

His talk with Molly hadn't exactly put his mind at ease. In fact it had probably just added to his stress levels. But he couldn't' deny what she's said made sense, for the most part. Of course it was ridiculous to think that the universe had it in for him. If that was true he wouldn't have Beth and Junior, he wouldn't have a job, his life would be one endless stream of misery and he couldn't say it was. If the universe was really punishing him, Sherlock would be dead and so would he. The truth was that bad things happened; he should know that better than anyone. All those men who'd lost their lives during the war, they weren't being punishing, neither were their families, it just happened that they'd plucked the short straw. Realizing this lifted a weight from John shoulders and he suddenly felt like he could breathe again. He sat down next to Harry's bed and took her hand, his thumb rubbing over the soft skin. "Alright Harry. That's it okay. Time to get things sorted. - You _and_ Me." he murmured. "Time to get out lives back on track."

~**SHERLOCK**~

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what have you got?" asked Lestrade as the pair stood over yet another confusing dead body, at least confusing to the inspector and Scotland Yard.

Sherlock had been staring at it for five minutes without saying a word, his fingers working over the keys of his mobile when it went off. The detective frowned at the name flashing on the caller ID. **MARY**. His heart jumped inexplicably and he quickly hit the answer button and lifted the thing to his ear, completely ignoring Lestrade and the case. "What's wrong?"

"_Nothing's wrong. Beth wanted me to call you and ask you to come to the park with us?"_

Sherlock's frowned depend. "I do not believe Beth is able to ask such a question. Her vocabulary is not that advanced."

"_What I meant was, she wants to see you and I figured a trip to the park would be prefect." _

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at the body. "I….I'm on a case." he murmured.

"_Oh. Alright. Well, it was just…"_

"I can be at Paddington Street Garden's in fifteen minutes."

"_Wonderful. Beth will be thrilled."_

Sherlock hung up without a word, a little confused as to why he was going. He turned around, took a final look about the room and then left.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled after him. "Where are you going, what about the case?"

"I have something to do."

"More important than this?"

Sherlock thought the question over for a second before answering. "Yes, actually." he waved his arm to at a passing black cab. "Besides, it was the window cleaner."

"What window cleaner?" Lestrade snapped, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "Bloody hell Sherlock, where are you going!"

Sherlock pulled open the door of the black cab and pointed across the street. "That window cleaner."

Lestrade glanced across the street and stared at a man in his mid-twenties. "Are you serious?"

"Listen to me or don't Lestrade, I really don't care. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a young lady waiting for me." Sherlock smirked as he closed the cab door on a bewildered Greg Lestrade.

It didn't take Sherlock fifteen minutes to get to the park, with the traffic so light in the mid-morning it only took ten. Of course Sherlock had known this would happen but he also knew it would take Mary longer to get there than him. The detective walking through the park gate and located the nearest bench where he sat and waited for Mary and the children, as predicted, five minutes after his arrival the young red-head pushed a double buggy through the gate with a very excited one and a half year old, bouncing in the seat.

"Sheelock!"

Sherlock got to his feet as they approached.

"Sheelock!" Beth called again, staring up at him with besotted eyes.

"Beth. Mary." He said, leaning over to glace at the sleeping baby. "Junior. - Asleep as usual."

Mary chucked. "That's what newborn's do."

Sherlock nodded. "As I have read. - Shall we." he gestured to the park.

They made their way through the park in silence until they reached a small children's play park. Mary stopped by a bench and knelt down in front of the buggy to unfasten Beth's rains and lifting the little girl out. The moment her feet touched the ground she was rushing over to Sherlock, grinning from ear to ear. The detective sat on the bench, his back straight, looking down at her.

"Sweng."

Sherlock frowned, he still hadn't gotten used to deciphering Beth's language.

"Sweng, sweng." she repeated bouncing on her feet.

"Swing." Mary translated with a smile.

"Oh. - Go on then."

"She wants you to push her on the swing." Mary chucked, rolling her eyes.

Sherlock looked from Beth to Mary to the swing and groaned. "Is it really necessary?"

Mary dropped down next to him. "Welcome to the joys of parenthood."

"I am not her parent." Sherlock said sternly.

Mary looked at him with a raised disbelieving brow. "Must I call John and have him explain it to you again?"

Sherlock's face fell at the mention of his friend. He hadn't spoken to John Watson since Harry's accident. He slumped a little against the wood at his back. "How is he?"

Mary smiled softly. "Same as before, miserable. - Well, actually I think he's worse."

Sherlock sighed, staring down at the small hand tugging at his larger one. "Does he know you're meeting me?"

"No. He's at work. But he wouldn't care you know."

"I think he would. I'm a danger after all."

"He never said that Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced over at her. "No, but it is true."

"Must we go through this again? You're no more of a danger by being with them than not."

"I wish I could believe that." Sherlock sighed, before finally getting to his feet and lifting Beth off hers, carrying her across the park to the swings, listening to her jabber on aimlessly.

Mary watched him go and exhaled warily. They were never going to get back to normal if Sherlock continued to believe he was a danger to John and the children. And it was obvious to all that they were missing each other. "Men." she grunted. "Don't you turn out like you're dad's, Junior. The worlds couldn't cope." she said lightly over the side of the buggy.

Leaning back against the bench, Mary folded her arms over her chest and watching Sherlock and Beth across the park. Sherlock seemed to be getting the hang of the pushing thing and Beth was giggling happily. It was a real Kodak moment. Mary finish into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. Flicking to the camera she aimed it at the pair and snapped a few pics, wishing he'd had the forethought to bring a proper camera. "Next time." she whispered to herself.

She was just putting the phone away when it rang. She glanced at the ID, then to Sherlock and Beth.

"Hello John."

"_Hey, Mary. Was wondering what you're doing for lunch. Thought we could meet up at the park. Maybe have a picnic before the weather goes bad again."_

"Oh, that…sounds wonderful. Actually we're already at the park. Paddington Street."

"_Excellent. I'll see you in about half hour then."_

"Great. Uh, John I think you should know…." Mary swallowed nervously, looked back at Sherlock and Beth.

"_Yes?" _John's voice was tinted with fear. _"What's wrong?"_

"Nothing, I was just….We don't have any food." she finally answered.

John sighed down the line. _"Is that all, Jesus Mary, you almost gave me a heart attack. I'll stop off at Greggs on my way. Sandwiches and cakes all round." _

"Wonderful." she smiled down the phone. "See you then."

"_Yeah_."

The line went dead and Mary sighed. She had no idea why she hadn't just told John that she was with Sherlock. It's not like he would care, right. It wasn't like she and the kids were trapped in the middle of a messy divorce, where John refused to let Sherlock see the kids. She shook her head. Sadly though, that's exactly what it felt like.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, just wanted to say. First; I've never been to Paddington Street Gardens, so I'm taking some liberties with whether they have a children's play-ground or not. It's called dramatic license. Lol. Second; for those of you who are not English. Greggs is not a mis-smelling for Lestrade name, it's the name of a chain of sandwich shops. **

**I'll have another chapter for you soon. **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and feedback, it really makes my day knowing that you're enjoying this story. Sorry if I have replied to all of them, I try my best to do so. P.S – this story has not been beta'ed so will have spelling and grammar mistake. I apologize for them. **

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Mary was nursing a hungry Junior when she looked up to see John stood shock still a few feet away, a white and blue plastic bag hanging from his fingers. She followed his gaze across to the two figures sat side by side on the swings, Beth lightly swinging back and forth in the baby swing, while Sherlock sat tediously pushing with an outstretched arm while sitting on the flat 'grown-up' seat just next to her, his coat scraping the ground. He was talking away, pointing at two more children across the playground, Beth watching him intently. Though she probably had no idea what he was blabbering on about.

Mary smiled at the screen and wished that she didn't have Junior in her arms, so he could take another photo. Turning back to John, she watching him watch them. His face a mixture of cold and warm, of shock and affection.

"John?" she said gently, not wishing to startle him. It didn't work, the doctor practically jumped out of his skin, turning to her with hard 'don't do that' eyes. "Sorry."

He pulled in a deep breath and strolled over to join her, dropping down into the seat. "How long as he been here?"

Mary swallowed before telling the truth. "Since we arrived, Beth wanted to see him so I gave him a call."

John's head snapped around dangerously fast, Mary feared he'd give himself whiplash. "You called him?"

Mary looked at him nervously. "Yes." he drew the word out.

"And he came?"

"Obviously." she smiled a little, relieved he hadn't gone on to bite her head off. "He's always happy to see Beth." _Shit_. She grinned as she saw John frown. It really did feel like this was a divorce.

"He's seen her before this?"

Mary took a deep breath and nodded. "Only twice. - I took her to his place."

John's eyes widened. At least he now understood why Beth hadn't asked where Sherlock was. She already knew because she was seeing Sherlock behind his back.

"Was that not allowed?" Mary asked gently.

"No…I mean, yes, it's allowed. I - I just didn't think he'd want to." John murmured, glancing back over to the swings where the pair were still talking, oblivious to his presence.

"He's very good with her. It's a surprise really." Mary said, removing the bottle from Junior's mouth and leaning him forward on her lap so as to wind him.

"Yes, it is."

John dropped the bag next to him on the bench as he continued to watch his daughter and his best friend. They seemed happy and comfortable, like any other father and daughter. He rarely got the chance to have moments like that with Beth, having to work as he did. Being a GP didn't exactly pay well, not with the way the NHS was at present. So seeing Sherlock playing the doting father was kinda like being hit in the face with a wet fish.

"Why don't you go over and say hi." Mary said softly. "He looks like he could use a break; he's been at it for half an hour."

John shook his head. "I don't want to interrupt, they seem to be…."

"John." Mary frowned over at the man. "She's you're daughter too. She'll want to see you. - and so does he."

"I highly doubt that."

Mary rolled her eyes and repeated her 'men' mantra in her head. If they weren't careful, she might have to resort to physically knocking their heads together. She couldn't understand how Mrs. Hudson hadn't done it already. "For God sake, just go." Mary snapped, pushing John's arm till he was off the bench.

John looked down at her sternly, before turning and marching, as he always did when he was trying to look determined, over to the pair.

"Dody!" Beth yelled, grinning madly. "Dody, Sheelock sweng."

John smiled back. "Yes, I can see." he glanced at the detective. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Hardly." Sherlock sighed, getting to his feet. "This is extremely tedious and an utter waste of time that could be better spent working."

"Then why are you here?" John asked, controlling his temper, badly.

Sherlock didn't answer right away, unsure how to. The truth was always preferable, especially when talking to John, but he wasn't all that sure what the truth was. So he simply shrugged and turned his head away.

John however wasn't fooled. "If I didn't know better Sherlock, I'd say you were being sentimental."

"Nonsense."

"Whatever you say." John laughed easily as he walked around behind Beth and began to push her.

The pair stood in silence for a few moments. Beth babbling on in that way she did, the wind passing through the trees, John concentration not wholly on his daughter and Sherlock concentration not wholly on his surroundings.

"So?" John finally said, breaking the silence. "How's work?"

"Same as usual. Scotland Yard is as useless as ever. I wonder how they survived without me."

"I wonder." John murmured, roll his eyes.

"And Harry?" Sherlock asked in return.

"She's getting there. She back on the program and in therapy. I've made sure to see her more, and to make her see the kids."

Sherlock nodded and they were silent again.

"And you're work John? How is it?"

John smirked. "Like you really care?"

"No, not really but it is only polite to ask."

John laughed. "Since when do you care about being polite? - Especially to me."

"I guess I've changed since…." he trailed off.

"Yeah, guess we both have. - shame really." John sighed.

Sherlock turned to look at him, frowning. "Shame? How so?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. - life was less….normal back then." his tone was said. "We got on better."

Sherlock watched his face carefully, seeing the dark shadows both beneath and within his eyes, seeing the fine lines around them. He was tired and wary and at a loss. Something Sherlock understood. "Maybe you need some excitement in your life John."

John looked up to meet Sherlock's concerned gaze, his heart skipping. "Yeah, maybe I do."

"You should ask out the nurse at the surgery."

John frowned. "What?"

"She obviously likes you. You should ask her out…." he glanced at his watch. "…I have to go."

"A case?" John asked eagerly.

"Yes." Sherlock lied, thankful that John was unable to deduce when he was doing such.

John's brows drew together. He always knew when Sherlock was lying, he did it so rarely that it was obvious and it hurt to know that he was doing it now. Sherlock didn't want to be around him any longer than necessary it seemed. He'd come to see Beth, not him. John's jaw clenched as he watching Sherlock kneel before the now still swing and wish Beth goodbye.

"Na. Na go." Beth snapped, her bottom lip trembling. "Sta, sweng." she demanded.

"I must go." Sherlock said in the softest voice John had ever heard. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Na. Sta." her arms flew out to cling to Sherlock coat collar and John felt his stomach drop to the floor and tears pool behind his eyes.

Sherlock swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to the little girls head, before rising to his feet, ignoring the protests. His heart clenched tight. He straightened his back and tightened his jaw; unable to speak he simply nodded a farewell to John and turned to leave, waving at Mary as he went. It wasn't until he turned the curve in the path that he realised the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The echo of Beth's cry continued to ring in his ear all the way to the main road, and beyond.

John quickly moved to lift the little girl out of the swing seat and cradle her in his arms as she cried for Sherlock to come back. It broke John heart seeing their daughter so distressed. He had to fight not to cry himself. It was the worst feeling in the world. Not even losing Sherlock the first time could compare. He pressed his lips to Beth's dark curls and tried to sooth her.

Carrying her back to the bench he sat down next to Mary, rocking the crying child back and forth in his arms, his eyes closed.

"I… I don't think I can take this." He murmured, more to himself that anyone.

Mary placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and sighed. "Then fix it, John. Tell him to come home."

John shook his head.

"John you're killing each other. He wants to come back; you want him back, so just order him to."

"It's not that simple." John said with a tight voice.

Mary huffed with frustration and folded her arms over her chest, leaning back petulantly against the bench. "It is that bloody simply. - Why must people always make things harder than they have to be."

~**SHERLOCK**~

Neither John, Mary, Beth or Mrs. Hudson had heard a word from Sherlock since the incident at the park, he wasn't answering anyone's calls and John had to admit he was getting worried and angry. The strange thing was it wasn't like Sherlock was giving any of them a running commentary on his comings and goings, but there was a feeling, deep in his gut that told him something was wrong and he didn't like it one bit. That was how he'd ended up calling on Mycroft. The man had brushed his concern aside quickly. Telling him that Sherlock's life was really none of his concern any longer.

"Like hell it isn't, he's my friend."

"Yes, and you threw him out of his….sorry, you're house."

John glared at the man. "I did not _throw_ him out; he left, of his own accord."

Mycroft crossed his legs, raised his chin and stared down his nose into his glass. "It is for the best John. You have separate lives now. Different priorities. Sherlock will never be able to stop working; it is all he can do. It is all he wants to do. - You however no longer wish to be a part of that, understandably. You're children come first and you are happy in a normal job. - Just let Sherlock get on with his life John and you get on with yours."

John's glare turned dangerous, the same steely fury he'd had in them three years ago when he'd stood in this same room and call Mycroft out for betraying his brother to Moriarty. "And who's going to watch his back when another madman goes after him? You? - Yeah, cause you did a real bang up job last time!" John practically yelled.

Mycroft met his gaze. "I've learnt from that mistake. - Besides I'm all he has."

"No!" John snapped. "He has Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. He has me and the children."

Mycroft sighed dramatically. "John, I would prefer if you did not act like you're trying to win a Bafta. You have already made you standing quite clear. The children come first and you do not wish for them to be in danger. Sherlock wishes the same thing, which is why he left in the first place. Do you not think, as his _friend_, you should respect his wishes?"

John stood staring at the man. He hadn't really considered why Sherlock had left. He'd figured it was because he wouldn't go back to working with him, or because he was freaking out about the kids, which in hindsight didn't make much sense, as Sherlock and Beth had been pretty close from day one. The idea that Sherlock had moved out and cut all ties to _protect _them was….heartwarming. No one could ever say that Sherlock Holmes was cold and heartless again. Not that John had ever truly believed that.

"John?"

"Are you serious? He left to protect us."

Mycroft shrugged. "He always was sentimental like that."

John laughed, actually laughed. "Sentimental? Sherlock?"

"Of course - at least when it comes to you, you're housekeeper and now with those children." Mycroft shook his head.

John dropped down into the chair opposite the smartly suited man and stared at him. "What have you go against our children Mycroft?" John asked curiously, not really paying attention to his wording.

Mycroft lifted a brow and stared at the doctor, not missing it. "I have nothing against you're children John."

John scoffed. "Bullocks, you've been against them from day one."

"I merely did not wish for you to do something that Sherlock would live to regret."

"Sherlock's great with them, especially Beth. What is it? You want him to remain a cold fish like you."

Mycroft's chin lifted. "I am, as I've always been, concerned for my brother."

John watched Mycroft closely, wishing he had Sherlock's people reading skills. Mycroft was always an enigma to John. He could never tell what he wanted or what he was thinking. But despite that, he'd always known one thing for sure; Mycroft really did care about his little brother. He was still pondering that when something caught his eye for a second and he got to his feet slowly, his gaze never leaving Mycroft. "I know you are, which is why when you speak to him, as I know you will be, you can tell him to get his arse home." with that John turned and left.

Mycroft watched him go with a weary sigh and pulled out his mobile from the inside of his jacket. "Are you happy now Sherlock." he said to a seemingly empty room. A door in the far corner opened and the tall detective appeared wearing a weary face. He strolled over to take the seat John had just vacated.

"I told you, you were over-reacting."

"It doesn't change anything Mycroft."

"You are being tedious Sherlock, please stop. John clearly wants you to return to Baker Street and if I'm not mistaken, I believe he is ready to return to working with you."

"You said it yourself Mycroft, the children are his number one priority." he steepled his fingers.

"As they are yours." Mycroft stated matter-of-factly. "We have already discussed this Sherlock. You're family…." he smirked at the oddity of that word in reference to his brother. "…will be perfectly safe. I meant what I said about learning my lesson Sherlock. No one will get that close again, I can assure you."

Sherlock hung his head over his hands. "I - I just don't know if we can go back Mycroft. John said it the other day, we've changed."

"You are boring me now Sherlock. Neither of you have changed, only the situation has, I am sure that once you're both settled into it, and are back to doing what you do best, you will find yourself back to normal. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with the head of the…." he slammed his jaw shut.

"Don't worry brother dear, I have no interest in your little plan to rule the world."

"Go home Sherlock." Mycroft grumbled.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and feedback, it really makes my day knowing that you're enjoying this story. Sorry if I have replied to all of them, I try my best to do so. P.S – this story has not been beta'ed so will have spelling and grammar mistake. I apologize for them. **

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

John left the club feeling a little bit hopeful for the first time in ages. He was standing one the pavement smiling to himself while hailing a cab. And there was Sherlock thinking he didn't obverse, huh. As the cab pulled to a halt in front of him his phone went off, pulling it out of his pocket his stomach dropped at the name on the ID. **DAWN**. He closed his eyes as he answered it. He'd completely forgotten about his date.

"Hi Dawn. - Yes, of course we're still on for tonight. - Sorry an emergency came up. Uh, can you give me half hour? - Alright see you then." John climbed in the back, gave the address and settled back against the leather and rested his head. A date was the last thing he wanted right now, but he'd agree and considering that Dawn had been the one to ask, he felt honour bound to attend.

He still didn't know why he'd said yes, or why she'd even asked. Well that was a lie, he'd said yes because she'd caught him at a bad moment, he'd returned from his lunch date in the park feeling brittle and tired and with Sherlock's insistence that he get back on the horse still ringing in his ears, along with Beth's crying, he'd been exhausted and feeling battered by life. Dawn had appeared all blond hair and sweet smile and asked him out. He'd tried to put her off at first, saying his week was kind of hectic. Sadly Dawn wasn't easily put off and had suggested the next Friday. Backed into a corner John had done the only thing he could, said yes.

So now here he was on his way to a date with a girl he really wasn't all that into when he'd much rather be at home with the kids waiting to see if that arrogant git of a flat-mate was going to come home.

John snapped up in his seat, wide eye as a realization suddenly hit him. Where the hell was Sherlock going to sleep? He'd been so determined to get the prat back to Baker Street that he hadn't given the sleeping arrangements a thought. It wouldn't be fair to make Sherlock crash on the couch again. Maybe they could get one of those sofa beds, but the problem still remained, the living room was no place to sleep, not with two young children.

John slouched once more into the seat and moaned, rubbing at his eyes. There was only one option, something he'd avoided. They were going to have to share a room.

~**SHERLOCK**~

The date went as expected. He smiled, made light small talk, and spent most of the time wondering if Sherlock was home. He'd asked Mary to call him if the man did make an appearance but so far they're been no word.

"So you have two children?" Dawn asked, smiling brightly across the table. "I love children. How old are they?"

"Beth's nineteen months, Junior's almost three…. months." He clarified.

Dawn frowned slightly. "Oh…. But you and their mom _aren't_ together?" she asked cautiously.

John smiled at her. "Most defiantly not." he didn't really want to go into detail. "But we're very close." He could only imagine what she'd think if he told her that his children's mother was his sister.

"That wonderful, especially for the children. I've always thought that kids need both parents in their lives. It's not good for them to be stuck in the middle when their parents aren't on speaking terms."

John nodded thoughtful. "Yeah."

"John I have to ask, I know you probably get asked this all the time."

John knew what it was before the question even left the young woman's lips. "He's a pain in the arse."

Dawn's eyes widened as she giggled. "He can't be that bad if you live with him."

"Living with him is worse; I never get a break for it." John replied with a soft smile.

"Did you know….? You know about the government thing?"

John dropped his gaze to his plate, his fork poking at his food. "No. I didn't. - Sherlock didn't want anyone to know, not even his own brother knew."

"Wow." Dawn shook her head. "So you all actually believed he was dead. That's just so…._mean_. Putting you all through that pain, it doesn't seem fair, rather selfish actually."

John's defenses kicked in. It was one thing for him to insult and scold and shout blue murder at Sherlock, he was allowed to drag him over the coals as the injured party, but no one else could. "Actually he didn't have much choice. Moriarty had people posed to kill me and others close to Sherlock, he was doing it to protect us." he knew his tone was harsh, but he didn't care one jot.

Dawn's face fell. "Oh, well…when you put it that way, it's not selfish at all. – It's kinda heroic." She sighed wishfully.

They fell silent for a while, concentrating on eating their food. It wasn't until desert that Dawn risked speaking again. "Do…this is nice."

"Yes." John nodded, his gaze flickering to the mobile on the table at his elbow.

"Are you expecting a call? Will you be rushing off on a case?" Dawn asked nervously, fearing another telling off.

John shook his head regretfully. "No. I - I don't work with Sherlock anymore."

"Oh, that's a shame. I was looking forward to your blog. I was rather an avid reader."

"Yes, a lot of people were interest in the cases, but…"

"No, I mean yes the case were great, but I loved you're writing. It was always filled with humour and intrigue. - Maybe you should think of writing a book if you're not going to be adventuring with the great detective any longer. You really are very talented."

John stared at her open mouthed. Nobody had ever complimented him on the writing before. They'd say they loved the blog, they'd tell him about their favourite cases and ask about the infamous Sherlock, but they'd never said he was talented. "Thank you, Dawn." he smiled softly.

"I'm just telling the truth. And with all you're experience, I think you'd absolutely be able to write a best seller."

"Stop, you're making me blush." John laughed.

Dawn smiled brightly at him.

The rest of desert flew by in idle chit-chat until John paid the bill, ignoring Dawn insistence that as the one to have asked him out, dinner should really be on her. Then they'd left the small restaurant, strolling the streets, talking. They hadn't got far when fate finally poker her head into his life. The flashings of blue lights were the first thing to gain their attention. Dawn turned a curious look to John. You just weren't human if flashing blue light didn't draw your attention like a moth to a flame. The next thing to gain their attention as they passed the end of the street that was scattered with police cars, an ambulance and yellow tape, was a very loud yell that sent a shiver down John's spine. He stopped in the middle of the road, staring towards the cars, his eyes wide.

"Dammit Anderson, I know you're a bloody idiot but this goes beyond your usual stupidity!"

"Is that?" Dawn frowned following John's gaze.

"Yes." John was walking towards the men without even thinking.

"I don't care." Anderson yelled back, his arms folded over his chest.

"Do not force me to result to physical means Anderson." Sherlock snapped dangerously.

"Woo, Sherlock calm the hell down." John said, grabbing the detectives arm as he stepped into Anderson's face. "What the hell's going on?"

"This moron won't let me into the crime scene." Sherlock snapped angrily.

John turned to Anderson. "Why not?"

"Because we don't want the scene corrupted." Anderson answered calmly, looking at John.

"You know Sherlock never contaminates crime scenes." John frowned.

"Yes, but usually he'd not there when the crime happens."

"What?" John snapped, his head shooting around to stare up at Sherlock, suddenly noticing the blood in his face. "What the fuck happened." the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "I don't know what happen, Anderson won't let me investigate."

John turned to Sherlock, ignoring Anderson and grabbed his face, turning it towards the street lights.

"I've already been checked over John." Sherlock stated, fighting against his friends grip.

John ignored him again, concentrating on the porcelain features, until he was satisfied that there was no real injury. "Whose blood is it?"

Sherlock straightened. "Lestrade."

"What?" John's eye widened, turning to Anderson. "Is he?"

"He's fine, John." Sherlock answered. "Just a shoulder wound." he nodded to the ambulance a few feet away.

John released a sigh of relief, before turning back to Sherlock. "So what happened?"

"I've already said….John, you're date is waiting for you?" Sherlock said, nodded behind John, his tone tight.

"Shit." John spat, turning around to see Dawn waiting patiently behind him. He waved her forward.

Dawn drew to a halt next to John, smiling softly up at Sherlock, shifting under his scrutiny.

"Sherlock, this is Dawn."

"Ha, the nurse whose been chasing you for weeks." Sherlock said causally, as Dawn stood blushing scarlet. "Though I don't think it will last John, unlike the others she's really not that into you."

John glanced at Dawn whose red cheeks darkened.

"Anderson, I'm going in that house whether you like it or not. I want to see those bodies."

"I said _no_."

John turned away from his date and looked between the men. "Anderson, stop being a prat, you know you can't stop us, so just get out of our damn way."

Sherlock glanced down at his friend, a bland but surprised look in his eyes.

"I didn't think you were his lap dog anymore?" Anderson glared.

"And I'd thought you would have learnt you're lesson by now. - Move."

Anderson tried to stare the doctor down but finally stepped back. "Fine. On your heads be it."

Sherlock smirked as he strolled past Anderson back towards the house, pausing a moment he glanced back at John. "Coming?"

John moved to follow then paused remembering Dawn. "I…I can't…"

Dawn touched his arm and smiled. "Its fine, I'll get a cab home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." she stepped back. "I'll look forward to reading all about it."

"I don't…."

Dawn grinned at him before walking away, John watching her go.

"John!" Sherlock yelled.

"I'm coming…" He called back, heading towards the house. "You've really got to get a grip on patience Sherlock."

Dawn hailed a cab, pulling out her mobile, settling into the back seat as she dialed.

"It's done. You were right, so easy." she smiled down the line.

~**SHERLOCK**~

John couldn't believe the bastard had roped him in on a case. After weeks of telling him that he didn't want to be involved there he stood in the mortuary at the Hospital watching Sherlock examine the bodies in front of him like nothing had ever changed and he was actually enjoying it. As Sherlock ran over what he found, John found himself seeking out some paper and a pen to take notes. They'd been there ten minutes when Lestrade walked into the room, his right arm in a sling.

"So, what have you found?" he said instantly.

Sherlock told the inspector how the two young men were working for a business man in the city, selling contaminated drugs and that they'd inadvertently stumbled onto a deal gone bad.

"I hear you gave Anderson a hard time."

"The man's an idiot; I don't understand how he's still working for you."

"He doesn't work for me Sherlock, he works for the yard."

"Then maybe the _yard_ should think about firing him."

"At least you didn't have to put up with Donovan too." John added.

It seems Greg hadn't been paying attention, because he jumped when he heard John's voice. "What are you doing here?"

"His job, what else." Sherlock said, bending over the second body's feet.

"So you're back?" Greg asked John, who simply shrugged.

"That's not…."

"Of course he's back." Sherlock announced, cutting John off. "Well, we've got everything we need, I call you." Sherlock headed for the doors. "John." he summoned.

John rolled his eyes and looked at Greg with a secret smile. "Home, sweet home." He whispered.

"You love it." Greg laughed, walking with him.

"Yeah, like a hole in the head."

"John." Greg stopped him in a hand on his arm. "He needs you, you know. He's been all over the place. I don't want to force you're hand or make you feel guilty, but if you're even considering about coming back, I really think you should."

John sighed. "Between us, I've been going crazy with boredom for three years. It's just going to take some juggling, with the kids and everything."

Greg nodded. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"John!"

Greg laughed. "Tell him to let me know the instant he has anything."

"Will do. - How's the shoulder by the way?"

"Fine thanks, no real damage."

"Glad to hear it." John nodded.

"John!"

"Listen, Greg, before I go….I think you should talk to Molly."

"Why?" Greg sighed glancing at his sling, fidgeting with the strap.

"I just think you guys can sort things out."

"JOHN!"

"Got to go." John turned and marched off down the corridor.

* * *

**A/N: Well, happy now? **

**A few notes. **

**Why Dawn? I picked the name as a reference to Martin Freeman's love interest in the Office. I'm not a big fan of the show but I did enjoy the Christmas special. **

**Who was Dawn talking to? That I'll leave up to you, though I know who it is in my head. **

**Where's Donovan? Burning in the pits of hell, otherwise known as a basement desk job, if there's any justice that will happen in the series too. **

**Finally, Molly and Greg? I'm not sure if any of you worked out Greg was Molly's ex, the one that brought her the necklace, but I've kinda been pairing them since Scandal in Belgravia. That moment when Molly took her coat off at Christmas and Lestrade's eyes almost fell out of his head. Wonderful moment. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and don't worry it's not over. **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I've kinda been hit by writers block over the past week. It sucks, doesn't it? Anyway, I hope this chapter isn't too bad, if it is, blame the block. This story has not been beta'ed so will have spelling and grammar mistake. I apologize for them. **

**NOTE: So you know, Bold Italic – is John's subconscious, Plain Bold - is John consciousness, Normal Italic – random thoughts and memories. **

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

There was no discussion, no apologies, they simply hailed a cab, climbed into the backseat, Sherlock giving the address and spent the journey in silence. The detective tapping away at his mobile while the doctor consulted the notes he'd made. When they arrived back at Baker Street they entered the house like they always did, Sherlock leading the way up the stairs, John at his heels, shrugging out of his jacket.

"Chinese?" John asked in his average tone.

Sherlock paused at the top of the first flight, his gaze scanning the wall with a frowned, his finger brushing against a scuff in the wallpaper.

"What is it?"

"We've had a delivery." Sherlock replied coolly.

"Delivery? Of what?" John watched Sherlock's fingers closely.

The detective didn't reply, turning instead and heading up the remaining steps to the flat. They entered to find Mary dozing on the couch, Junior asleep in his basket and no sign of Beth, which obviously meant she was in bed. Sherlock didn't stop to wake the sleeping young woman, heading straight for the bedroom. John's brows creased as he turned to follow the man, his heart speeding up a little.

"Sherlock where are you going?"

Sherlock paused on the threshold of the room and stared inside, John coming up behind him, poking his head around the doorframe. His mouth fell open at the sight. Sherlock sniffed and turned to leave, pushing past his friend, ignoring the questioning look in the man's eyes.

"Sherlock….Did you…?" John said finally from the door, his gaze still glued within.

"No. I suspect it was my brother." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly as he put on the kettle.

"What?" John snapped turning to stare at his friend. "Is this some kind of joke or something?" his tone just a little angry at having the privacy of his room invaded by Sherlock's brother.

"No. Mycroft merely figured it was the only logical solution to our current living arrangements." Sherlock said not looking at the doctor.

"So what, we're Morecambe and Wise now?"

If John was honest he didn't know why he was so angry, he'd known it was the only solution too. He'd already planned on sharing a room with Sherlock. He figured his problem was Mycroft taking matters into his own hands, without consulting either of them.

"Morecambe and Wise shared a bed." stated a sleepy voice from the joining door.

John turned to see Mary watching them, her hair all over the place.

"I don't think you to are there yet?" she smirked just a little, which quickly grew into a full blown grin at John flustered face.

"You just let them in? Where's our…._my_ bed?"

Sherlock glanced over at John, his back against the counter. "I believe '_our__'_ is the correct word John. It was my bed first after all."

John shot him a shut-up-Sherlock glare before turning back to Mary. "Well?"

"Skip?" Mary shrugged. "Mycroft had the men take it away."

"Of course he bloody did." John grumbled, dropping into the kitchen chair. "Seriously Sherlock, you've got to tell that brother of yours to stop interfere in our lives."

Mary looked between the two men with a warm grin. "So? How was the date John?" she asked causally while continuing to observe them. She wanted to laugh when Sherlock slammed a mug a little too hard on the counter and John shot him a strange almost guilty look.

"It…was alright?" John murmured, turning to the red-head.

"Going to see her again?"

"No." Sherlock said coldly.

"Excuse me?" John glared. "Don't you start that again Sherlock, who I date…"

"You will not see her again John…" he turned to meet his friends gaze. "Not because you do not wish to, or because I forbid it….which I do not…." he murmured a little too calmly. "…but because she was not genuinely interested in you."

"And how do you know?"

Sherlock smirked and sent him that 'come-on-really' look.

John rolled his eyes, turning back to Mary. "How were the kids?"

"Good as gold, as usually…." she fell silent for a moment, her gaze dropping to the table. "Beth had a bit of trouble settling down."

"Why?" Both men said with equal concern.

Mary smiled softly. "She wanted a story…from you." Mary looked at Sherlock.

John sighed, dropping his head into his hands as Sherlock placed a mug of tea in front of him.

"So I kinda…had to tell her he was coming home and that you'd read her a story tomorrow night."

"Why did you tell her that?" John asked frowning. "We weren't't even sure he would come home."

"Of course you were John." Sherlock stated. "Especially after you're visit to the club. - You knew I was there didn't you?" he watched him with narrowed eyes.

John met his narrowed gaze with a grin. "Next time you hide in a closet, I suggest you make sure all your coat is inside."

Sherlock laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Excellently done John."

John sat blushing as Sherlock marched into the lounge and sat down at the doctor's laptop.

"Glad he's home then?" Mary asked in a whisper, grinning at his smiling adoring face.

"It defiantly feels like home again that's for sure." John replied, lifting his tea.

"So you'll be going back to working with him?" Mary quizzed, leaning forward.

"What makes you say that?"

Mary shrugged. "Because you've missed it. - Almost as much as you've missed him."

John sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the man and nodded. "Sure I want to go back to work…but there's the kids to think about. - He gets called out at all hours of the day and night; I can't just go rushing off at three in the morning and expect Mrs. Hudson to look after them. It's not fair on her."

Mary nodded. "You could always take them with you?"

John looked at her with a horrified glare.

"I was kidding John. - Maybe Mycroft could help?"

"He doesn't strike me as the babysitting type." John laughed, craning his neck to look over at his friend. "Hey, Sherlock, you think Mycroft would look after the kids while we run off investigating crimes?"

Sherlock's head snapped around with amusement. "He's rather sit through a week's worth of reality shows."

They all laughed.

"So, you want to stay for dinner Mary? We're ordering Chinese."

"Haven't you already eaten?" Mary frowned at the doctor.

He shrugged. "It's amazing how solving crimes gives you an appetite."

Mary grinned as John got out of the chair and went to grab the local Chinese menu of the cork-board.

~**SHERLOCK**~

Mary left at just after one, leaving the house quiet at Sherlock and John sat in their chairs drinking tea, Sherlock working on John's laptop, as he hadn't moved his stuff back yet, while the doctor read casually.

With a yawn, John closed his book and got to his feet. "I'm heading to bed."

Sherlock nodded, his fingers still tapping away at the keys of the computer. "Alright."

John glanced at him for a moment before lifting the basket and carrying it into the room. He sat it on the stand before beginning to tug off his jumper, looking at the twin beds that now sat in place of the double.

"Sherlock?" John called from the room.

"Yes."

"Which bed do you want?"

"I don't care John."

"Alright." John crawled beneath the covers of the bed nearest the wall. Deciding it would be the better choice if Sherlock got called out in the middle of the night. He didn't want the man stumbling around their room, possibly knocking over the basket.

He settled back against the pillow and let a wary sigh escape his lips. For the first time in weeks, if not years, John finally felt like Baker Street was home. He hadn't realised how much Sherlock had brought to his life before the detective had died, and after there really hadn't been anything he could do about it. All he'd had was the kids to cling onto. Now his best friend was back and his life was looking up once more. Hopefully they'd figure out how to balance their work and the kids. Other couples do it all the time.

John's stared at the ceiling, his heart racing. He hadn't just thought of them as a couple, had he? They weren't like that. Sherlock was his best friend, that's all there was. Sure they had two kids, in a weird screwy way, but that by no means meant they were a couple.

_**You're sharing a room? **_

**Separate beds, not a couple**.

_**You argue over unimportant things. **_

**That's because Sherlock an infuriating git, who'd drive anyone crazy. - Still not a couple. **

_**You almost killed yourself after losing him? **_

**He's my best friend, my only friend. **

_**That's not true; you've got Mike and Greg**_**. **

**Yeah, but Sherlock was the one that pulled me back from the edge just when I needed him. **- **Besides, I'm not gay. Never have been, never will be.** John said to himself.

_**You know Molly was right, and the sooner you accept it, the better it'll be for everyone. **_

John's mind fell silent. He just lay there staring up at the ceiling, Molly's words replaying in his head over and over. _"I know, you'__re not gay, but that is irrelevant John. So you don__'__t look at Sherlock and instantly want to jump his bones It__'__s not the point. You two are the definition of a couple, a relationship. __–__ You__'__re what we all want."_

The door opened and John could hear Sherlock moving around in the dark room, the detective didn't say anything; he just stripped out of his clothes and climbed into the bed. John listening to the springs creak under his weight, the sound of the other man's breathing, heightened feeling of warms that swamped the room. John knew then that something had changed. Something he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to admit, because it was just too different to everything he knew about himself.

~**SHERLOCK**~

John woke up early the next morning before Junior began to cry for his eight AM bottle. A bright beam of sunlight was being blocked by the heavy dark curtain, but there was enough light to illuminate the room. He's woken lying on his back, stretched out beneath the covers, quickly realizing he was in a different bed and he wasn't alone in the room. He turned his head to see Sherlock's face pressed deep into the pillow facing him. He looked younger while sleeping.

If asked, John would forever deny that his heart skipped a beat at the sight and that his stomach clenched. It was a ridiculous reaction really, after all he'd spent years waking up in rooms with other men, and yet not once during that time had he ever lay there watching them sleep, listening to them breath. They'd been friends, just like Sherlock. Some had even come back from the dead, kind of, and still he hadn't laid there watching them in the early morning light. This revelation only made John more uncomfortable. Throwing back his duvet he swung his legs out of bed and stretched once more, keeping his groan of pleasure quiet so as not to wake the detective. After a few seconds, John stood up and moved over to the basket, glancing inside to see Junior sleeping soundly. Deciding to leave the basket where it was, John turned and headed for the bathroom door.

He was only inside for a couple of minutes while he went through his usual morning routine before returning to the bedroom. He found himself looking at Sherlock once more, thought the relevant word might actually be staring but he'd never admit so. The man was still in a deep sleep, which for a man who supposedly never slept was actually rather common. John smiled.

"Dody!" Beth voice crackled through the baby monitor that sat on the cabinet between the beds. "Dody!"

John scratched the back of his neck as he left the room to retrieve the little girl, pulling the door closed, leaving Sherlock and Junior asleep.

"Dody." Beth exclaimed as John strolled into the bedroom that had once been his.

"Morning little one."

"Dody." she held out her arms to him. "Sheelock?"

John shook his head as he lifted her off her feet. _Just like her father_. He thought with a smile. _Never forgets anything_. "He's still asleep, little one."

Beth's face lit up with his words and John felt a warmth spread through him. "See Sheelock." Beth cheered merrily.

"When he wakes up. Come on, let's get you some breakfast."

* * *

**I'm not sure how much more there will be of this story, I'm kinda writing myself out here, maybe one more chapter after this. - Unless something hits me. **

**Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and feedback, it really makes my day knowing that you're enjoying this story. Sorry if I have replied to all of them, I try my best to do so. **


	17. Chapter 17 Epilogue

**A/N: This is a very short epilogue, just to end the story. More notes at the end, please read and don't hate me. **

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

"Ape!" yelled Beth, her small hand slamming down over the playing cards with a giggle.

Sherlock sent John an irritated look while grinning at the little girl he adored. "I cannot believe I let you talk me into this." the detective complained.

John laughed as he helped his daughter gather up her winning cards. "You said you were bored."

"Yes, but this is so tedious." Sherlock murmured laying another card on the floor where they sat crossed legged across from one another, Beth cradled in John's lap.

"He's just throwing a moody because you're beating him." John said close to Beth's ear. "And we all know he hates to lose."

John grinned as Sherlock scowled, trying to ignore the taunt and focusing on the game he was playing. He knew the detective was letting her win, he could see it each time he hesitated over the matching cards, his gaze lifting encouragingly to Beth. And each time he did, John's heart skipped. He found himself staring at the slightly younger man's delicate features, his smile, the way his bed hair lay crumpled over his forehead. He wasn't turned on by the sight, at least not physically, but he couldn't deny that his heart was beating faster than usual and he felt happy, really happy, the kind of happy he hadn't felt in years. Not since Sherlock had taken that leap off St. Bart's roof. For three years John had been existing in a grey world with no light and no idea why he felt so utterly empty. Even after having Beth and then Junior, he hadn't felt whole, complete. It wasn't until Sherlock had walked back into his life almost three months ago that that hole had been filled, that light had returned to his world. Sure it had taken him to the edge of his own sanity at times, it was even now making him question who he was, but he couldn't deny the feelings having Sherlock back invoked in him.

But as much as he couldn't deny those feeling, he wasn't ready to admit what they meant. He'd lived too long thinking himself one thing; he couldn't imagine himself as something else. It was just too much for him at this moment in time. Right now all John Watson wanted to do was enjoy a peaceful Sunday afternoon with his family. Whatever else was going on in his unsettled confused head could wait. It would sort itself out eventually, when he was actually ready to deal with the emotional baggage that came with whatever realization was waiting in the wings. He knew one day he'd have to face up to the truth, to just why it had almost killed him to lose his best friend, to why he lay awake in the morning just watching Sherlock sleep. This would all need to be faced at some time. – Just not now.

"John!" Sherlock snapped. "Are you paying attention?"

John shook his head, dislodging the thoughts and glanced down at the pile of cards. "Sorry." he smiled tightly. "Beth…" he whispered into the little one's ear. "….snap."

"Ape!" Beth cried, her small hands slamming down once more on the pile of cards.

* * *

**A/N: Okay guys. I know, I know, utterly disappointing ending, but as I was saying to fellow writer,****power0girl,**** I don't feel this can go anywhere right now. It's all kind of reached that end of episode feel. And I know you were wanting a JohnLock moment, but to be honest, as much as John is opening up to his feelings about Sherlock, I can't imagine him just taking that leap so soon. There is going to need to be some dramatic situation that will push them into that, and after everything that's they've been through in this story, it doesn't feel fair to throw more shit at them, at least for now. And I'm hoping that you know how domestic their life is going to become. So I'm leaving it on a happy family note….. For now. **

**Yep, that's right; there will be a follow up, which I hope will tie-up (not literally) the JohnLock story line and hopefully give you all what you want. **

**I do hope you don't hate me too much. I really do, cause I don't want you to hate me. **

**Before I sign off to go figure out the plot for the follow-up, I'd like to thank all of you that have spent you're spare time reading this and reviewing it. You've really kept me on my toes, and have made writing this a pleasure. I hope to hear from you again, (if you're not too pissed at me for this ending) **

**All my best wishes to you all. **

**GATERGIRL**

**xxxx**


End file.
